


Home for Summer

by Gia279



Series: These Ain't Your Momma's Paperbacks [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek is as usual kind of a jerk at the beginning, Derek is attracted to a d a d and is confused about it, Derek's jealous that Stiles isn't jealous, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Getting Together, Ghosts, Hale family business, Human AU, Kid Fic, M/M, Single Parent Stiles Stilinski, Stiles has a kid, Stiles has parenting anxiety, Weddings, baker!peter, centuries old murder, florist!Cora, ghost au, if that makes sense, jealous!Derek, kinda enemies to lovers, photographer!laura, puppies!, romance novel based, very mild jealousy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:08:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 70,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22513006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gia279/pseuds/Gia279
Summary: The house was mostly empty. The Hales had a big wedding for the day, as they did almost every day in June, and it was all hands on deck. Talia had given him his key and suggested he have a look around while everyone was out.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: These Ain't Your Momma's Paperbacks [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1335904
Comments: 222
Kudos: 764





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this while I was still kind of burned out, but I wanted to finish it before I took my reading break. Since then I've been trying to edit it into something better but after about 5 rereads you just kind of figure that is what it is. I'm not super proud of it but I figured it was complete so I might as well post it.
> 
> I hope you all are entertained by it at least <3

The sign for _Everlasting, Hale Weddings, est. 2010_ had recently been repainted; Stiles could tell because the purple had been lighter, almost fading when he’d come for his interview two weeks previously. It looked nice, fresh. He looked up at the house. The movers had already finished, so he only had to unpack. 

The Hale manor was enormous; half was living space, but the sprawling other half was for the business. 

Stiles pulled around to where he’d been instructed to park and got out, jiggling his keys nervously. He’d just moved back to Beacon Hills after being gone for almost a decade. He’d applied for a management-slash-floater job with the Hales on a whim, and after two meetings, Talia Hale had hired him _and_ solved his next problem in one fell swoop. 

She had an apartment style space on the second floor that was vacant, since her oldest two kids had moved out. She’d suggested Stiles live there while working for her, as most of them did. Everlasting was a full service wedding business, and the whole family was involved. 

Stiles blew out a breath and went for the front door. The property was beautiful; he understood why quite a few of their clients chose to get married there. 

Thankfully, the house was mostly empty. The Hales had a big wedding for the day, as they did almost every day in June, and it was all hands on deck. Talia had given him his key and suggested he have a look around while everyone was out. 

He was glad he’d left Freddie with his father for the day, too. The house was huge, with plenty of things to explore and get into that would seem irresistible to her. 

The foyer split in two directions; to the left was the rest of the house, and to the right was the business, clearly marked by a welcome desk made of cherry wood. Stiles had briefly toured the manor when he’d interviewed and gotten the job, but he wanted to see a little more while no one was around. It was why Talia had hired him, to run things while they focused on the clients. 

There were two kitchens in the business half of the manor alone. Stiles looked over the pastry kitchen first, and noted that both could use a little organization. 

Down the hall was a glass door leading into a little shop. He could see a door on the other end that led outside. A quick glance inside showed walls of flowers and work stations, and he realized it was Cora Hale’s domain. 

As the florist of the group, she was in charge of decorations, centerpieces, and bouquets and boutonnières. 

Stiles walked through, making notes as he went; the door to outside led to an enormous garden and greenhouse right out of the shop. He imagined it was good for business, being able to see where the flowers actually came from, how they were cared for. 

Stiles made another note in his phone and moved along down the hall. 

After the floral shop was the tiny but functional photo studio—Laura Hale’s kingdom. He knew she often did out-of-studio shoots, working to capture the couple’s love and essence in the photos. She was very, very good at her job; Stiles had seen plenty of examples on their website. 

He found Talia’s office at the end of the hall. It was a smart set up: potential new clients had to be escorted past the flowers, the kitchens, and the studio to get to the office, giving them a peek of the services. He knew the Hales had both indoor and outdoor space on the property to host weddings and receptions, but that they also serviced weddings held at other relatively nearby venues if the clients preferred it. 

He’d never worked wedding services before, and he was surprisingly eager to start. He glanced at the time, then made his way back to the front of the house. He had to start unpacking soon. 

Talia intercepted him in the hall. “Oh, Stiles, I’m glad you’re here. I left early hoping we could talk a bit before the whole madhouse returns.”

Stiles laughed. “Yeah, I was taking a look before I went to unpack.” 

“Oh, good. Here, let’s talk. Do you want some coffee?” she asked as she led the way to her office. She was dressed in a lavender dress and heels, her hair done back neatly for the wedding she’d been overseeing. 

“No, thank you.”

She nodded and stepped into the office; she’d rearranged it since he’d been here last, moving her desk in front of the window, adding vases of flowers to the open spaces and a photograph of the manor to the left wall. “Okay. We have basically all of the paperwork done, and the movers finished up earlier. I wanted to give you an idea of what things are like.” She sat at her desk and gestured for him to have a seat. “Spring and summer, and holidays, are the busiest wedding seasons, we get a bit slower in the fall and winter, which spikes back up for New Years, Valentine’s Day, the usual. It’s hectic and often things go wrong, but rewarding.” 

Stiles nodded. “I’m sure.” 

Talia smiled. “I know we discussed your role when you were here last, so do you have any questions about that now that you’ve had time to look around?”

“Just one, I think. I wanted to clarify—aside from managing, I can help wherever, correct?”

“Yes. We all tend to lend a hand if anyone is short, and with so many different, mmm, departments, someone is almost always short a pair of hands.” She lifted her own hands as if to demonstrate. “We try to hire enough people, but the wedding business is busy and…energetic enough that call outs and walk outs happen.” She sighed. “We’re working on organization.”

“I can help with that,” Stiles said. “I was making notes already. It’s a great set up,” he added with a smile, “but I can think of several ways we can make it even better for both staff and clients.” 

“Perfect.” Talia’s smile faltered. “I do have to warn you that my brother and children may be opposed at first to changes.” She sighed. “But if anyone gives you any trouble, send them to me.” 

Stiles nodded. “I also—my child will be around until school starts in August. I’m looking for a day camp already, so it won’t be all summer, but I wanted to let you know.”

Talia smiled again. “As long as she’s not breaking things or opening doors that we’ve closed, she’s fine.”

“No, I wouldn’t—I mean, I’d keep an eye on her.” Stiles flushed as he stammered. 

“Of course.”

“I have some ideas for the departments already,” Stiles blurted, eager to move past his parenting skills. “I can email you the plans and CC whoever’s department it is once I have more time to see how everything works. I’m excited to get started.” 

“Great, that works for me.” Talia beamed at him. “You can start Monday.”

Stiles grinned.


	2. Chapter 2

Derek woke up to a wet, sloppy kiss, a warm, quivering body rolling onto his lap, and big dark eyes gazing upon his face with what could only be adoration. He kissed her nose and sat up, rubbing his hands down her back, through her silky dark hair. “Wanna go outside?”

Viola, his two-year-old lab, flew off the bed, scrambled across the floor, and ran directly into the door frame. She didn’t let that slow her down; she simply bounced back and ran through the doorway as if she’d meant to do that all along.

Derek shook his head. He’d had her eyes and ears checked several times since he’d gotten her, but nothing came up. 

It was the vet’s professional opinion that she was simply clumsy and that it would get better as she got older and mellowed out. 

He quickly pulled on a pair of pants and followed the sound of scrabbling claws to the kitchen. He stroked her head before opening the back door. 

Viola sailed over the porch steps to do several ecstatic laps around the fenced-in backyard. 

Derek left the door open while he went to use the bathroom. He could hear Viola barking at something, but he wasn’t worried. She’d never caught anything more than a mouthful of grass, and he was pretty sure the squirrels taunted her on purpose. 

His phone buzzed with an email while he was brushing his teeth, but he didn’t have to be at the manor for a few hours, and it was probably just his mother emailing him about the orders for the day anyway. He’d get to it before he left. 

Viola was lapping at her bowl like she’d never seen water before in her life when Derek returned to the kitchen. There was a small flood around her. 

“You’re a disaster,” he sighed. 

She flicked her ears, tail still wagging nonstop, and kept drinking until the bowl was empty. She sat and licked her drenched muzzle, looking at Derek like _well?_

“Go get your ball,” he said, and the resultant mess was _almost_ worth it. 

He ate a banana while throwing Viola’s ball, thinking about the dogwood trees he had coming in. Some clients—brides and grooms alike—were very particular about how they wanted their venue to look while they got married, and it was Derek’s job to meet their expectations. He also had some rosebushes on their way for some brides who met next to a blooming rosebush while at a function and subsequently fell in love. 

Derek thought it was probably the first time he hadn’t rolled his eyes at a request for wedding roses. He usually felt they were overused and overhyped, but they were popular and if the clients wanted them, he got them, usually when he couldn’t steer them toward something more unique. He finished his banana and threw Viola’s ball for her again, then reluctantly pulled out his phone. 

The email wasn’t from his mother, he noticed with mild surprise. It was from Talia’s new hire, Stiles Stilinski, CC’ing him in an email for his mother. He leaned against the porch rail, thumbing the message open. 

“ _Good morning,_ ” it began, “ _I’ve started with landscaping at your request, Ms. Hale. Here are my proposed changes to organization and scheduling, including execution and storage suggestions, etc…_ ” 

Derek’s eyes narrowed. Who the hell did this smug little shit think he was? Execution and storage suggestions? He jammed the phone in his pocket and whistled for Viola. He waited until she came inside to put fresh water in her bowl and lock the door. “I’ll be back later,” he told her, stalking to the front of the house. He stomped to his truck, jumped in, and jammed the keys into the ignition. 

He drove furiously to the manor, gritting his teeth. The landscaping shed was past Cora’s greenhouse and garden, tucked neatly out of the way and away from _people_. It operated perfectly well under Derek's care, and he wanted to see just what this _Stiles Stilinski_ had to say to his face.

There was a stranger walking around the shed, talking into his phone. He stopped beside a pile of tools, switching to typing the notes. 

This, Derek decided, must’ve been Stilinski. He was wearing a short sleeved white shirt, hair already mussed from the heat, with a deep purple nametag on the upper left side of his chest. 

Derek stalked up to him, flicking a glance at his nametag to ensure he had the right guy. “Hey,” he snapped. “Who the hell are you to tell me I take too long doing my work?”

Stilinski lifted a brow. “I’ve been hired to do a job, and I’m doing that job, part of which is finding where things can be done more efficiently. Mr. Hale, I presume?” He lifted one brow coolly, his gaze raking from Derek’s no doubt wild bedhead to his muddy work boots. 

“I _know_ how to do my job, I keep my tools organized just _fine_ , and I don’t need some random New Yorker coming in and telling me how and when to do things.” 

Stiles still looked remarkably calm. “Your mother disagrees.” He flicked Derek a dismissive glance. “I have things to do. You can check the time table for any questions.”

Derek ground his teeth. “You can take your _time table_ and _shove it._ ” He stomped back to his truck. He had a delivery across town to make.

His landscaping team was installing a red stone path, and he had the custom pergola to deliver, plus some trees to transplant, grass to install, and a yard to redo. Backyard weddings were very popular lately. 

Frankly, most of Derek’s job was at the manor, the upkeep of the property. He worked with venues as their main landscaper and built arches and pergolas for clients, and when needed, he helped with other aspects of the business. He’d made floral arrangements, carted lights and backgrounds, whisked cake batter, and had waited tables for receptions. He helped Cora the most, since he was best at tending plants, but he’d helped everywhere. 

He didn’t have to be told how to do his damn job. 

Derek managed to lay an entire backyard’s worth of sod and implant an apple tree sapling before his morning caught up to him. He glanced at his phone as it rang. If he didn’t answer, he could avoid Talia’s disappointment and anger at how he’d acted for just a bit longer. Of course, that always ran the risk of pissing her off further, which would usually result in her hunting him down, full schedule or not, for a face to face reaming. 

He answered. “Kind of busy, Mom.”

“ _Oh, are you?_ ” She did _not_ sound convinced. “Good, _then this won’t take very long. I am very disappointed with how you spoke to Stiles this morning. We all agreed before I hired him that having a manager would help the business so we could all focus on our areas of expertise, we all knew some changes would be made. Now,_ ” she said firmly, “ _you will finish what you’re doing, take a few hours to cool off, and you will apologize to Stiles. Then you will try the suggestions he has given. We will discuss their permanence later._ ”

“I know how to do my job,” Derek argued. “I don’t need to be told how to do it by someone who’s never done anything more physically demanding than taking notes on his phone.” 

“ _And you know that…how? As far as I’ve heard, you yelled at the man the first time you laid eyes on him._ ” Talia inhaled sharply. “ _You will calm down, apologize to our new manager like an adult, and try the time table._ ” She hung up.

Derek glared at the phone, then swore under his breath. He let the team know he had to run a few errands, but since they hadn’t expected his help on this project, they barely reacted beyond waving him off, which didn’t exactly improve his mood. He stalked to his truck; if he was being sent home like a child being put into time-out, he’d might as well enjoy it. He went home and got Viola, texting his dog walker that he didn’t have to visit today.

Viola was thrilled and nearly yanked him off his feet in her bid for escape to the truck. 

As much as he’d have liked to argue his case, he thought as he let Viola into the passenger seat, he knew he would lose. He had agreed to it when they’d all spoken of hiring a manager, but only because he’d been imagining someone to take care of walk-in clients, scheduling appointments, and maybe wearing a skirt suit. 

He got distracted imagining Stilinski with a pencil tucked behind his ear, wearing heels and a tight black skirt with a slit up to mid-thigh.

He jumped when someone honked at him to go. He waved apologetically and hit the gas. 

Okay, so he’d been picturing a woman and a front desk manager, and had assumed if there _were_ changes, they’d be made to everyone else’s jobs, not his. He had the landscaping taken care of. What did a manager care how he took care of the trees and grass and gardens?

Viola stuck her nose against his neck.

“Yeah, yeah, fine.” He pulled into the dog park and took a few minutes to clip Viola into her leash, walked the sixteen feet to the gate, and unclipped her again. 

She flew across the grass, vaulted over a Maltese, and found a stick. She dropped it at Derek’s feet. 

Derek threw it for her, watching as she gamboled past a pair of dignified poodles for the stick. 

Viola grabbed one end, dragging the other as she loped back to Derek. She tripped over the dragging end and sprawled at the feet of the poodles. 

Derek went to comfort her through the embarrassment, but she no longer wanted to play fetch. She took to following the Maltese around like the world’s happiest squire. 

Derek sighed. He’d give the schedule a try only to make his mother happy. If it set him back or made him late, well, he had no problem laying the blame squarely on Stilinski. He went to an empty bench, checked on Viola—still with the Maltese, who looked happy with the arrangement—and took his phone out. He sent a text to each of his sisters with a mile long complaint about Stilinski. He figured he was allowed to grumble, even if he had to cooperate. 

Cora just sent back, ‘ _ha-ha, sucks for you_ ,’ proving once again that being the youngest really did make you an asshole.

Laura simply replied that Stilinski hadn’t gotten to her yet, but that she was sure it wasn’t that bad. Oldest children weren’t that great, either. 

Derek sighed, told them both they were jerks, and whistled for Viola. He supposed he’d have to face the music eventually anyway, and he’d might as well get it over with. Plus, if he left now, he might get to the manor in time to see Stilinski go head-to-head with Laura. 

Viola tripped over her own feet, legs tangling, as she raced over. 

“Have you had her eyes checked?” one of the other owners asked. 

Derek rubbed Viola’s ears. “Yep. Perfect vision. Thanks.” He clipped her leash and let her tug him back to the truck.

She wasn’t thrilled to be left at home again. 

“I’ll bring you with me tomorrow,” Derek promised, scratching behind her ears before leaving. 

He didn’t see Stilinski after a cursory glance over the garden and landscaping shed, or while he walked through the manor. He heard cursing in Peter’s kitchen and grinned. 

Peter was standing beside a mixer, holding a whisk in one hand and his phone in the other, face flushed. He bared his teeth when Derek entered the room. 

Derek tried not to smirk. He was guessing Peter had also been subjected to Stiles’s meddling. “What’s wrong?” he asked lightly. He leaned against a counter piled high with clean utensils. 

Peter snarled. “Mister Stilinski,” he said, pronouncing each syllable with deliberate, vicious points, “has given me a _to-do_ list, including a _hand drawn map of my own pantry._ He suggests I reorganize my ingredients and utensils.” 

“Why?” Derek demanded. 

“Because apparently I can’t find things _fast_ enough. We can, quote, “Be more efficient”.” 

“Huh.” Derek knew riling Peter up further wasn’t going to solve anything, but it was nice, not being the only one annoyed. “What, like you need to bake intricate cakes faster?”

Peter seethed, “ _Apparently._ We are not _Dairy Queen_ , or some _fast food chain_ , _speed_ is not our priority!”

“Right. He told me to do the landscaping in time tables,” he shared. “Guess you’ll have to do all the icings first, then cakes one layer at a time instead of working on one cake at a time. All about speed.” He watched gleefully as Peter’s head filled with steam. 

“I will _not_ rush through making a cake, I’m not working in a _Sam’s Club bakery,_ for god’s sake. Who the hell does he think he is? As if I don’t know best where to find my ingredients, that sniveling, little-”

Stiles stepped into the kitchen. He had a cardboard box in his hands, as well as a bulging reusable bag on each arm. 

_Little_ may not have been the right word, Derek thought, watching him.

_Time tables,_ he reminded himself. 

Stiles set the box on the counter nearest the door. “I noticed you were low on some supplies during my walkthrough earlier, so I grabbed them for you.” He set the bags beside the box. “In the future, go ahead and pass any business grocery lists to me, and I’ll be sure you have everything,” he said sweetly. He turned on his heel and stalked out. 

Derek swallowed. He was sure they’d been overheard and suddenly felt guilty. This seemed worse than storming up and yelling at the guy somehow.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will be posting on Tuesdays and Saturdays for now. <3 I'm glad you're enjoying it so far!!!

Despite the fact that he was fuming, Stiles moved on to his next task for the day. He had a job to do, and he could be professional about it. He was having serious reservations about this job already, and only the fact that he liked Talia and the business kept him from quitting. 

After the cake kitchen, he’d gone to check in with Freddie and John during his lunch break; he’d grabbed a few things the kitchen had been low on while he was out since he’d noticed. 

He sort of regretted it after hearing Peter and Derek complaining about him, but the look of unpleasant shock on Derek’s face had almost been worth the ugly twist in his gut when he’d heard them talking about him. 

He huffed furiously and moved on to Laura’s studio.

She wasn’t there, doing an outdoor shoot with a couple for their announcements and Save the Dates. 

He poked around the studio a little, admiring her organization system. Laura didn’t need much, just a better scheduler and someone to handle the bookings so she had more time with each couple. He made a few notes, suggestions, and glanced at her schedule. He offered, in his email to Talia and Laura, to help her organize her schedule and do her bookings himself, which would free up her time for shoots. He added that her organization system was superb before moving on, since he figured a few compliments wouldn’t hurt. 

He stopped in front of the floral room, rubbed his eyes, and stepped in.

Cora was on-site making arrangements. She was at a table, wearing an apron as she wrapped baby pink and deep purple tulips together with some flowing green plants that Stiles couldn’t identify. 

Stiles could tell she was on edge, most likely because Peter or Derek warned her of his approach, so instead of looking around, he crossed directly to her. “Hi, I’m Stiles,” he said, holding a hand out. 

She shook it cautiously. “Cora.” 

He glanced around and smiled. “You clearly have a lot of talent and skill, and the shop looks great.”

She defrosted slightly. “Thanks.” She eyed him, her hands moving back to the arrangement she was building. “So?” she prompted sharply. 

“I think,” Stiles said, careful, “that your job is probably difficult, because people get specific images in their heads about decorations, bouquets, and centerpieces, and they don’t want to compromise.”

Cora softened further. She sighed and let go of the tulips. “Look, man,” she began, “if I don’t like your suggestions, I’m not going to do them.” She shrugged. 

Stiles quirked a brow. “They’re just suggestions.”

She glowered, pursing her lips, then sighed. “Fine.” She gestured at him to proceed. 

“Okay, what I was thinking was that if you organize the flowers by what complements each other rather than by type and color, it might make things easier on you. It would give clients an idea of what already looks nice together, but give them more options than premade bouquets and arrangements, to keep that personalized touch Hales offers.” Stiles turned, examining some of the shelves. “I can get you some rolling shelves—basically they’ll maximize the space to your advantage. One level will go flat against the wall, the second will go in front. You can slide them around to get to the level against the wall. We used them in New York for supplies,” he admitted. “They’re useful.”

Cora hummed. “I dunno. To put in new shelves, we’d have to take everything down, the flowers, the old shelves, everything.”

“It’d be worth it.” Stiles pulled up a picture of the shelves he had in mind on his phone and showed her.

She looked at it and lightened up visibly. “Alright. I like your ideas,” she said bluntly. “I’ll try them.”

Stiles grinned. “Great. I’ll order those shelves for you. If you need any help stocking or setting up, let me know.”

“I will.” She looked at the arrangement she’d finished making and pushed it across the table. “Welcome,” she said with a smile. 

Stiles smiled back, relieved. 

The last thing he had to do for the day was go over the catering kitchen, which was run by Erica Reyes, Vernon Boyd, and Isaac Lahey. Apparently, Boyd and Lahey did the cooking, while Reyes handled every other aspect of the catering. 

She was waiting, arms crossed, when Stiles got to the kitchen. 

Stiles tried not to visibly sigh. “Hello. You must be Miss Reyes?”

She blinked, then smirked. “You can call me Erica. I hear you’re here to tell us how to run things.” 

He couldn’t bite back the sigh that time, and Erica laughed brightly. 

“Just kidding. Poor thing, I bet you’ve had a helluva morning, starting with Derek and Peter. Come on.” She waved him into the kitchen. “I’ll show you around and we’ll talk. We don’t organize the pots and pans very well, I know, but Boyd is pretty strict about the pantry and-”

“Hey!” The man at one of the stoves whirled around. He was tall and pale enough to show the flush clearly on his face. “You said you weren’t bringing him back here!”

Erica rolled her eyes. “Stiles, this is Isaac.” She flapped a hand at him. “We’re still teaching him manners.”

“Get fucked.”

“Every morning, noon, and night, sweetheart.” She blew him a kiss and gestured at Stiles to follow her. She noticed him staring and grinned. “He’s mad because he didn’t get a chance to clean everything again, he isn’t always like that.”

“Uh-huh,” Stiles said dryly. “Well, it is pretty clean in here.” He looked around. The kitchen _was_ clean. It could use some organization for the pots and pans, some of the utensils, and if Isaac’s attitude was like that with the clients, they had other problems, but for the most part, it looked good. 

Erica had a desk set up in what might generously have been called an office, which she led Stiles to. “We do samplings with clients,” she explained as they walked in. “Just like with the cake, so they can see exactly what they and their guests will be eating. Now.” She sat behind the desk with a shark’s grin. “Let’s talk.”

They spoke for nearly an hour, with Stiles pitching suggestions and Erica negotiating compromises until they were both mostly happy. He liked her; she was honest in a sharper way than Cora, and chipper, and even if she didn’t like Stiles’s suggestion, she didn’t get irritated about it. She just laughed and told Stiles to try again.

“Look,” she sighed when they were mostly finished up, “I can’t promise we’ll change the menu.”

“Specifics instead of categories will cut back indecisive clients,” he shot back. 

Erica tapped her fingers. She glanced at the door, then down at her desk. “I’ll talk to the guys about it. No promises.”

“Fine.” Stiles sent the detailed plans to Talia and Erica, then stood. “If you need any help, let me know.” He stalked out before she could say anything else. 

Talia met him in the hallway. She glanced over his face, sighed, and stepped aside. “Let’s talk in my office.”

Once they were in the office, Stiles couldn’t hold his tongue. “I apologize,” he said frostily, “but I thought I was hired to help things run more smoothly. If no one follows my suggestions, fine, but I think I can help.”

Talia nodded, but Stiles wasn’t _done_ , not after the day he’d just had.

“I _know_ everyone knows what they’re doing, but your business is growing, and to make sure things keep operating the best way possible, you’ll have to grow too! If no one wants that,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair, “maybe I should call this a failure and find another job before we all waste more of our time.”

Talia held her hands out. “I know today wasn’t the best start, but—they’re just having trouble adjusting. I’ll make them follow along, just until they realize how much it’s helping,” she added hastily. 

Stiles squeezed his fists at his sides and called himself a moron. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “No one seems particularly happy about this, and if I’m working and living here with my daughter-”

“Don’t worry, I’ll set them all straight. And whatever they feel about you professionally, they wouldn’t do anything to upset or harm your daughter,” she said with such a stern look that Stiles was forced to believe it. “If you still have trouble with them, direct them to me.”

Stiles didn’t think that was a good way to deal with his new coworkers, but he said, “Alright,” anyway. He’d deal with this while looking for another job and place to stay, just in case.


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles picked a stack of books up out of the box at his side, setting them next to Freddie. He was sitting cross legged, mostly assisting as a pack mule, while Freddie knelt in front of the bookshelf Stiles had set up the night before.

“Can I put these ones on the second shelf?”

“They’re your books. You can put them on whatever shelf you want.”

She considered each book carefully. She hadn’t read all of them yet, but they were working their way through them. She put three books on the second shelf, then two on the first, and sat back to study the effect. 

Stiles smiled and got more books out for her. He was always just a little surprised by how much Freddie was like his mother, or him, or even John on occasion. 

She plucked two more books from the pile, studying the covers carefully. She was seven already somehow, going into third grade in the fall, and Stiles just…wasn’t ready for that. She also, he noted, needed a haircut and maybe some new shoes. Her brown hair was braided back, but the edges looked frayed and frizzy, which was usually the sign that it was time.

“Yesterday, Grandpa took me to the park and we fed the ducks,” she told him. “We got to eat at a picnic table, and the ducks tried to steal Grandpa’s sandwich.” She set her books up and beamed. “There was a lake by the park,” she continued in a wheedling voice that Stiles recognized. She didn't look at him yet; she was studying a book with a mermaid on the cover. “Can we go swimming?”

“We can, but probably not until later,” he said slowly. “Sometime this summer, I promise.” He heard footsteps in the hallway and turned to look over his shoulder. After a moment where nothing happened, he shrugged and turned back to Freddie. “I have to work today, but if you want, you can come with me.” He rubbed his eyes. “I’ll find a day camp soon so you can have some fun before school starts.” He heard footsteps again and frowned. The manor must have an echo, he decided. It sounded like someone in heels, so it was probably a client going to meet Talia. 

“I wanna look around the manor.” She grinned at him. “Grandpa says it’s the biggest house in Beacon Hills, and there’s a bunch of space, and I wanna see the garden. And do you think it has secret doors?”

Stiles smiled. “Probably not. But if you stick with me today, we’ll see about exploring later. Okay?”

She nodded eagerly. “Okay.” She stood and went to get her shoes. “Are they going to have a wedding here? Will we get to see the party?”

“Uh, not today. And people usually don’t want strangers coming to their weddings, so we probably won’t be going to any.” 

Freddie sighed wearily and pulled on her sneakers. “That isn’t fun. Can I try some cake?”

Stiles thought of Peter Hale muttering about him. “We’ll see. Come on, we’ll finish putting your books away later. Bring one with you so you don’t get bored.” He’d already put a coloring book and some crayons in her backpack. 

She chose two books and put them in her bag. “Will I have to take tests when school starts?” she asked as they left the bedroom. 

Stiles flipped the light switch off. “Probably.”

She huffed. “How come?”

“So they can make sure your brain didn’t escape from your head over the summer.” He tugged gently at the end of her braid, smiling when she laughed. 

Freddie read in a chair next to Stiles’s desk while he answered calls and scheduled appointments for the first half of the morning. She kept still for longer than Stiles was expecting, only squirming around to get a drink of water or go to the bathroom. 

Mail was delivered right before lunch, so Stiles signed for the package, then eyed the whole pile of envelopes. It was all for Laura. He glanced over at Freddie, who was swinging her legs and hadn’t turned the page for a few minutes longer than it normally took her. 

“Do you want to eat lunch here, or go meet Grandpa?”

She looked up, blinking hazily.

Stiles smiled at her. 

“Can we eat here so I can look around?” She closed her book, marking her page carefully with the bookmark she’d made the last week of school. 

“Sure. Come on, I just have to take this to Laura, then we can go grab the sandwiches I made last night.”

She stood, tucking her book in her backpack before she zipped it and put it over her shoulders. “Did you put pickles on mine?”

“Yep.”

“Can I carry the box?” 

Stiles eyed the package, weighing the odds of it holding breakable camera equipment. “Why don’t you hold the letters for me?”

She thought about arguing—Stiles could see it in the scrunch of her brows and set of her jaw, it was like looking in a mirror—but someone walked past, startling them both. She moved closer to Stiles. “Okay,” she mumbled. 

The stranger was dressed in a white apron with a purple name stitched on the chest, probably a sous chef for the caterers. 

Laura was editing some photos when they got to her studio. She grinned when she saw them. “Hey, Stiles, is that for me?”

“Yep. I updated your schedule, too, since there are a few appointments that got rearranged this morning.”

Freddie drifted away from him while he spoke, looking at the equipment Laura had on one wall. She didn’t touch anything, keeping her hands on her backpack straps, but she leaned very close, her nose almost brushing some of the lenses. 

“Perfect, thank you.” Laura set the package on her desk and nodded at Freddie. “How old is she?”

“Seven,” Stiles replied cautiously, and didn’t give Laura a chance to try to do the math. “Freddie, come say hello, please.”

Freddie leaned up on her tiptoes, peering at a lens almost bigger than her face. She turned slowly, dragging her attention away from the cameras. She noticed a camera on Laura’s desk and bolted over. “Hi,” she said a little shyly. She looked at a picture behind the desk. “Did you take those pictures?”

Laura grinned. “Yep. I take all sorts of pictures.” She bent and grabbed an album out from under her desk. She flipped it open to a complete spread of a bride in a huge Cinderella type gown, petting a white horse decked out like a unicorn. 

Freddie gasped and reached out for the book.

“Freddie, manners.”

“Sorry,” she responded breathlessly, not sounding very apologetic. She looked up at Laura, eyes gleaming. “Can I look at them, please?”

“Sure.” Laura nudged it closer to her. 

Freddie took the book and moved off to a corner of the room, holding it in reverent hands.

While she was occupied, Laura looked at Stiles. “I’ve been helping Cora all morning. Whatever you gave her, you should slip some to Derek, it might get the stick out of his a-”

Stiles cleared his throat.

Laura winced and mouthed, “Sorry!” She glanced at Freddie, then back to Stiles. “But seriously, Cora’s not big on change. We all thought she and Derek would be your biggest problems.”

Stiles shrugged. “I just gave her suggestions, same as I did everyone else.” His eyes narrowed slightly as he thought of Derek stomping up to him and shouting like a lunatic about minor organization suggestions. “I-”

“Did you _draw_ this?” Freddie interrupted. 

Stiles turned to lift a brow at her.

“I mean, excuse me, Miss Laura, but did you draw this?” She held up the book, showing them a photo that had such vibrant splashes of color that it certainly _looked_ like a painting.

“Nope. I took that picture right outside the manor.”

Freddie whipped the book around again so she could look at the picture. “But it looks like magic.”

Laura smiled. “I think most pictures look like magic from the right angle.”

Stiles watched Freddie for her reaction to that, and could already see where this was going. He could see it in her eyes, the way she gazed at the cameras and lenses on the walls. 

Laura hummed. “Hey, excuse me just a sec.” She disappeared into a closet.

Freddie looked up at Stiles, eyes shining. “I want to take pictures,” she said firmly. 

Stiles scrambled to think of what to say—he’d have to ask Laura where he could find a kid-safe camera, or maybe he could try to convince her that using his phone camera was the same thing, but…he didn’t think that would work. “Uh…” he managed, and Laura returned. 

She glanced at Stiles, then the somewhat dusty camera in her hands.

He frowned.

“Freddie, if you want to try taking some pictures, I have a camera you can borrow.”

Stiles’s heart lurched painfully. “Laura, that is probably—” He glanced at Freddie’s eager face— “very breakable,” he said delicately. “We appreciate the offer, really, but if anything happens to it…” _Kids are clumsy,_ he wanted to say. _And my kid especially._

Laura waved a hand at him. “This thing is about ten years out of date. I haven’t used it in forever.” She winked at Freddie. “It’s a good practice camera.”

Freddie swiveled to look at Stiles, eyes widening.

Stiles sighed. “That camera is older than you are, so be careful with it.”

“I will be, I promise!”

He gave her a skeptical look. “Even more careful than you were with Uncle Scott’s phone,” he pressed. “Two weeks ago.”

She turned red at the reminder. “I will,” she said again, more solemnly.

Laura adjusted the strap so the camera rested comfortably around Freddie’s neck, then took a few minutes teaching them both how to use it. “This way,” she said to Freddie, “if your dad forgets how to do it, you can show him.”

Freddie nodded seriously. 

“Thank you,” Stiles said, heartfelt. “I wasn’t expecting her to like it so much, but it’s all new here, and she’s excited…”

“Hey, I always encourage an interest in photography. Plus, this way if she gets bored sitting at your desk, you can have her taking pictures.” Laura grinned. 

“Thanks,” he said again. “I was getting worried about that myself; she doesn’t like holding still very long.”

“Do any seven-year-olds?” Laura snorted. 

The camera shuttered. 

Stiles glanced down to see Freddie grinning. He made a face at her, and she took another one. He had no doubt that the pictures would be unfocused and blurry; he also knew he’d keep them forever. “Let’s go get lunch, gremlin.”

She twisted and hugged Laura. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” 

Laura looked surprised, then hugged her back. “You’re welcome. You’ll show me the pictures you take, right?”

Freddie nodded eagerly and stepped back, reaching absently for Stiles’s hand. She chattered about what she wanted to take pictures of the whole way to the manor’s private kitchen, tugging on Stiles’s hand as she wandered. 

Stiles sat her at the table and got their lunches that he’d prepared over the weekend; it was strange sharing a fridge with other people, but he’d talked with Talia about groceries and where he could put his and Freddie’s things, so it was just a matter of getting used to it. 

“Do we have to stay inside all day?” Freddie asked while Stiles was twisting open her apple juice. She was bouncing her leg, plucking at the paper towel under her orange slices. “Can we go outside and do your work a little?”

“Yes,” Stiles replied. Even he wasn’t immune to Stilinski Stir-crazy Syndrome, and had trouble being cooped up. “We’ll work from outside for a little while.” He had a few phone calls he could make outside, after lunch.

Freddie hummed to herself while she ate, still bouncing her legs. 

Stiles had to find a day care or something for her; it wasn’t fair that she had to spend her whole summer break cooped up with him. He knew John would take her on his days off, and that Melissa, Scott’s mom, would be more than happy to, as well, but he wanted her to have friends, to spend time with kids her own age, so maybe when she started school, she would know some people. 

They went to sit on the porch after they ate; it wrapped around the left side of the house, away from the business side, and there was a bench and swing set up to overlook the yard and trees. 

“Stay where I can see you,” Stiles said. “I’ll be on the phone right here, but I can still hear you.”

“Okay.” She already had the camera up to her eye, aiming out at the trees of the preserve. 

Stiles pulled up the number for the place where Derek got most of the tree saplings and rocks for the landscaping. They were charging way too much, and he knew he could argue them down a bit; if not, he had three other places in mind that would go for his proposed price already. 

He paced while he spoke, keeping an eye on Freddie and an eye out for clients wandering the property. “Yes, I’m sure you are,” he said patiently, “but we are your biggest buyers in Beacon County, yes, I do know that for sure, and I can get faster, cheaper service from Rosewell. However, since we’ve been with you so long, we thought we’d see if you could go any lower before we decided to leave.” He shook his head at Freddie when she tried to climb over the porch railing.

She folded her hands under her chin.

Stiles pointed emphatically at the stairs, biting back a laugh when she slumped and trudged to them like she was heading for the gallows. He forced his attention back to Rob, the district manager, and Carla, head of sales. 

“Great! Just email the new contract straight to Talia, and we’ll finish up. Thanks so much,” he chirped. “Have a great day.” He hung up grinning. He heard the camera shutter nearby and smiled, turning to make sure Freddie hadn’t wandered too far. 

She was in the yard, close to the porch, taking a picture of the flowering shrubs planted along the edge. She turned to look toward the trees and gasped. 

Stiles looked up, tensing.

“ _Puppy!_ ” She shot off.

“ _Freddie,_ ” Stiles snapped, heart lurching. He grabbed the rail and jumped over, terrible images flashing through his mind. They were right in the middle of the preserve, anything could have come out of the trees and—he saw what Freddie was running toward. 

A big black lab was bouncing around Derek Hale’s legs while he was patting dirt down around a sapling. 

Stiles caught Freddie’s arm mere feet before she reached the dog. “Hey, what did I tell you about staying where I can see you? And you know better than to run up to strange dogs _or_ strange people.”

She frowned. “I was gonna ask,” she mumbled. 

Derek stood, wiping his hands on his jeans. He scowled, then glanced at Freddie and looked confused. 

Stiles had more important things to worry about than Derek’s confusion. “You need to ask _before_ you run up to people, or away from me. You don’t know if the dog is friendly, or if it’s going to jump on you for coming too close.” He took a breath, trying to calm his racing heart. 

Freddie shuffled her feet, looking down. 

“Are you babysitting?” Derek asked.

Stiles glared. “This is my daughter, Freddie.” He stiffened when Derek flicked a glance at his left hand, but didn’t bother telling him that he’d never been married. 

Freddie was all but vibrating in place. “Can I pet your dog?” she gasped.

Derek glanced at Stiles again uncertainly. “Sure. Her name is Viola. She’s friendly,” he added slowly, still watching Stiles. 

Stiles squeezed Freddie’s shoulder lightly, then let her go. 

Viola rolled onto her back as soon as Freddie got close. 

“Not even a scrap of dignity,” Derek muttered. 

Stiles snorted. 

Freddie dropped to her knees to scrub at Viola’s belly, cooing to her. 

Stiles felt Derek look over at him and tensed. “I, uh, spoke to your supplier.” 

“Great.” Derek turned fully toward him, crossing his arms. 

Stiles glared at him. “They’ve agreed to give us a twenty-five percent discount as long as we buy in bulk,” he said coldly. “Considering we always buy in bulk, according to past receipts, I considered that a good deal.”

Derek’s cheeks flushed. 

Stiles sniffed. “If we have too much of anything, we can always gently encourage walk-ins and indecisives toward what we have.” 

“That’s true,” Derek muttered grudgingly. 

“Do you live here?” Freddie asked. She and Viola had tumbled closer to them; Viola was halfway in Freddie’s lap, leaving grass, dirt, and fur all over her clothes. 

“I, uh, I used to,” Derek replied cautiously. “But now I have my own house.”

“Oh.” Freddie scratched behind Viola’s ears, looking put out. “But you and Viola come and visit sometimes, right?”

Derek glanced at Stiles, who shrugged. “Sometimes,” he agreed slowly. “Most of the time I’m too busy to watch her while I work.”

“I could help, if you bring her more,” she said eagerly. 

“Freddie, I think Mr. Hale was nice enough to let you say hi to Viola while he’s working already. So maybe you should thank him and let him get back to work.”

She sighed heavily and got to her feet. She kissed Viola on the nose before straightening and looking up at Derek. “Thank you for letting me play, Mr. Hale,” she mumbled. 

He looked uncomfortable. “You can just call me Derek. You’re welcome.”

She set a hand on the camera on her chest, then gasped. “Can I take a picture of Viola, Mr—Derek? Please?”

“Sure.” He looked at the camera strangely. 

Freddie backed up and had to try several times to get a picture of Viola, who kept chasing after her. It was only after Derek moved to stand behind Freddie and made a gesture, causing Viola’s butt to meet grass, that she got one. “Thank you!” Freddie beamed at Derek before running back to Stiles. 

“We’ll let you get back to work,” Stiles said. “Contracts will be with Talia.” He waved awkwardly and directed Freddie toward the house.

“What next?” She was bubbling with energy, psyched up and no longer hesitant about being in a new place. 

Stiles knew that was a good thing, but he also knew that meant keeping her occupied would be that much harder. “We’re going to talk to the guy who bakes the cakes next,” he told her. “I think he’s an ogre in disguise, so little gremlins should be on their best behavior.”

Freddie stuck her tongue out at him, then laughed when he responded in kind.

Peter was preparing a tray when they got to his kitchen. He noticed them, but didn’t acknowledge them until he’d finished arranging a cake slice. “Mr. Stilinski.” He glanced at Freddie and smiled. “Your Majesty.”

Freddie smiled shyly, swaying slightly closer to Stiles. “Hi.”

“I wanted to check in and see if you were low on anything. I updated your schedule; you’ve got three tastings tomorrow.”

Peter lifted his brows. “Yes, I saw.” He turned to the counter and held out a small plate to Freddie. “I need a queen’s opinion on this cake. Would you do the honors?”

It was a cake ball, covered in glittery blue sugar. 

Freddie glanced up at Stiles. 

_Great,_ he thought. _Sugar._ “Sure,” he said lightly. 

“Thank you,” she said as she accepted the plate. She moved to a clear counter behind Stiles to eat it.

Peter straightened up to look at Stiles. He flexed his jaw, then said, “I apologize about Friday,” through his teeth. He cleared his throat. “I have a tasting in a minute, and I’m very busy, but I am…attempting to implement your system.” 

Stiles wondered if Talia had gotten to him, or if he’d looked at the plans himself. “If you need a hand, let me know. I’m here to help.” He glanced at Freddie, who had somehow gotten chocolate on her chin. “And, um, thanks.”

Peter shrugged. “I have a daughter, too,” he said. “She’s twelve.” 

“Oh? Does she live here, too?”

He shook his head. “With her mother.” He didn’t elaborate. When Freddie brought the plate back, he smiled. “What’s the verdict, Your Majesty?”

Freddie giggled. “It’s the best cake _ever_.” She wiped her chin on her shirt, making Stiles sigh heavily. 

“Thank you very much.” He glanced at the time, then at Stiles. “If I need help, I’ll ask.”

Stiles nodded and took the hint. “Come on, Freddie, it’s time to get back up front.”

“Okay. Bye, thank you for the cake! He doesn’t look like an ogre, Daddy,” Freddie said as they were walking out.

Stiles turned red, glancing back at Peter. 

He smirked before going back to preparing his samples. 

“Thanks, kid,” Stiles sighed. 

“You’re welcome.” She leaned against his side, missing his tone. 

Stiles set her up with her crayons and coloring book for a while, then dealt with the calls and appointments that were coming in. A couple of new staff members showed up, looking for the caterers’ kitchen, followed by a couple who had a consultation with Talia, and a maid of honor who arrived to approve some centerpieces. 

Freddie dropped her crayons after Stiles had taken the MOH to Cora. “Dad, can I go take more pictures?”

“Finish the picture you started coloring first,” Stiles said. “Then you can take some, but you can’t leave this room.”

She sighed noisily. “Fine.”

Stiles scheduled three appointments, helped a man find Laura’s studio, and directed a couple to Peter’s kitchen for a tasting before Freddie made her impatience known again. 

“Please, can I walk around? I’ll be good and I won’t break anything. I just want to take pictures.”

Stiles glanced at the emails he had to answer—just things that didn’t need direct answers from Talia or any of the others, just things that he could handle already—then at Freddie’s flushed face, the gleam of tears in her eyes. He could recognize impatience and an impending tantrum from a mile away. “Okay, but _only_ our bedrooms and the hallways, okay? Don’t open any doors that are shut, or touch anything that isn’t yours.”

She nodded eagerly.

“Don’t bother anyone who’s working, either, and if you decide you’re done taking pictures, come let me know.”

“Okay, can I go now?” she asked, shifting her feet. 

He eyed her.

She smiled hopefully. 

“Alright, go on.” Only because that side of the house was empty.

She ran off toward the stairs. 

“Stop running! You’re going to trip!”

She slowed down, waving her hands apologetically. 

Stiles sighed. He reached for his phone, but it wasn’t on the desk where he’d set it. He frowned and looked around, patting his pockets. The desk was still neat—he hadn’t really settled in—so it should have been obvious if it was still there. He stood and looked over the floor to see if he’d knocked it over, then noticed Freddie’s crayons still scattered. He rolled his eyes and squatted to clean them up, tucking them and the coloring book into her backpack. He zipped it up and set it under the desk, reminding himself to talk with Freddie about leaving her things everywhere. 

The waste basket under the desk buzzed loudly. 

Stiles lifted his brows and grabbed it. His phone was one of the only things in there, aside from a crumpled piece of computer paper and an empty pen. He tipped his head back, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. John had warned him that Freddie might act out because of the move, and this was relatively small compared to what he’d expected. She’d been bored and probably trying to get his attention. He just wondered how she’d gotten the phone off the desk and into the basket without him seeing her do it.


	5. Chapter 5

Derek nearly dropped a ten pound bucket of white beach rocks on his foot and growled to himself, readjusting his grip. He moved them to the side and started back to the truck to get some more. He wouldn’t be so distracted, he knew, if he could just stop thinking about the fact that Stilinski had a kid. He barely knew the guy, so he shouldn’t have been so shocked, and he _really_ should’ve been done thinking about it. 

He had three more buckets of beach rocks, because the bride wanted her aisle to be made of them instead of a rug, and she also wanted it to be about forty _fucking_ feet long. 

Viola sniffed at the bucket, then sneezed and bolted off to find a stick. 

Derek wiped his shirt over his face and eyed the rocks. He was pretty sure he could build some kind of wooden casing for the rocks, that way they stayed tightly packed on the big day and so the bride didn’t fall. He wondered if she was going to be wearing heels, then decided it wasn’t any of his business; if she wanted a six inch spike trapping her on her custom white beach rock aisle, then they would provide the aisle. She wanted it on the beach, so he could dig a couple feet down to make the rocks level with the rest of the beach. 

Derek shook his head. 

“Hey, brought you some lunch!” Laura called. She had a cooler in her hand, standing under a half-grown lemon tree. When Viola bound up to her, she set the cooler down in favor of scrubbing her hands over Viola’s ears. “Hi, hi there, yeah, Derek doesn’t bring you over much anymore. I missed you.”

Derek wiped his face again and walked over to them. 

Laura sat down under the tree. “I brought some water out, too, and sunscreen.” She eyed him. “You’re turning red.”

“Then it’s too late anyway.” He sat beside her and grabbed a bottle of water. 

Viola climbed into his lap. 

He sighed and pet her back. “Your bowls are on the porch.” 

“Yeah,” Laura snorted. “Right.” She passed him a sandwich and swatted at a persistent fly.

“Thanks.” 

She nodded and set her own sandwich on her lap. “So, have you met Freddie yet?”

He glanced at her warily. “Yes…” 

“She’s cute,” Laura said with a grin. “She seems excited about the move.”

“Uh-huh…”

She shrugged. “I just thought all kids hated moving.” 

Derek took a bite of his sandwich, holding the remainder away from Viola, since she was still learning food manners. “She’s pretty young, right? She probably thinks of it as an adventure.” 

“Stiles said she’s seven.”

Derek frowned, trying to figure out how old Stiles was; twenty-four or five? Maybe older, he guessed, if his daughter was seven. Maybe closer to Derek’s own age.

Laura sighed and sipped her water. “I guess you’re right.” She smiled suddenly. “I lent her a camera to play with.”

“I _thought_ that camera looked familiar.” He glanced over. “Why?”

“She was interested,” Laura replied simply. “And probably bored. I figured it’d give her something to do while Stiles works.”

“Yeah.” Derek finished his sandwich.

Viola huffed and loped off toward the house, probably to get her own food, since Derek hadn’t shared his. 

“Peter likes him,” Laura said lightly. “Kind of. He’s redoing the pantry, anyway, and he apologized to him.”

“Huh.”

Laura packed up the remains of their lunch, then sprayed Derek in the face with sunscreen. She shoved the bottle in his hand while he was sputtering. “You’re welcome,” she said, and walked away. 

Derek sighed and applied sunscreen to his shoulders and arms, too, then put it on the porch and went to the buckets of rocks. He glared at them and rubbed a hand over the back of his head. He really hoped he wasn’t going to have to build the wooden casing around the rocks, just to empty it out. He eyed them. He could keep them in the shed like he’d originally planned, build the aisle, and transport them to the venue later. 

A camera shuttered. 

Derek looked up and smiled automatically. 

Freddie was crouched by a hydrangea bush, taking shaky close-ups. 

He glanced around, but Stiles wasn’t anywhere in sight. 

Freddie straightened up, then looked around. She stared at the tree line for a moment, like she wanted to go in. 

Derek groaned. “Don’t do it, kid,” he muttered. “Don’t make me go get your dad…”

Freddie shrugged and swung back toward the house, crawling under the porch railing and up onto the porch, then in through the kitchen door. 

Derek, relieved he didn’t have to decide between letting a seven-year-old explore the preserve alone or ratting her out, got back to work. 

Somehow, a week flew by. On Friday, Talia insisted everyone stay for a family dinner, including Stiles and, by extension, Freddie. Derek had to clean up a little before going to the family dining room. When he arrived, Laura was talking to Freddie, who was clutching the camera Laura had given her, and Cora was setting the table. 

“Hey, handsome.” Erica knocked into Derek’s side. “Whatcha scowling at?”

“Nothing,” he muttered. 

She snorted. “Right. Well, you better cheer up. Boyd made spaghetti squash and Isaac made his famous meatballs, so they’ll get all pissy if you’re glaring at their food.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “They’re pretty sensitive, for professionals.”

“Pft. So are you. Have you spoken to Stiles at all since you yelled at him?”

“Yes,” he said defensively. “Just, you know. When his kid came over to meet Viola a couple days ago.”

Erica scoffed. “Seriously, you can be _such_ a jerk sometimes.”

“It’s part of my charm,” he said dryly. “What else are we having?” he asked in an attempt to distract her.

“Isaac made garlic knots, Boyd made some basic salad.” She flicked his ear. “Come to the table.”

Stiles came out of the kitchen with a huge bowl of steaming spaghetti squash in hand, followed by Boyd with his homemade sauce. The recipe was a closely guarded secret, so he was the only one who ever made it, and it was always a hit. 

Stiles noticed Derek, pausing briefly before continuing to the table. He was wearing jeans and a plain t-shirt, more casual and relaxed than when he was working, and his hair was sort of hilariously disheveled. 

Freddie popped out of her seat. “Can I help?” she asked, leaning up on her tiptoes to see into the sauce bowl.

“Why don’t you help Miss Cora with the utensils?” Stiles said hastily. He set his own bowl in the middle of the table and stepped aside for Boyd. 

Erica prodded Derek’s arm until he swatted at her as they walked to the table together.

He was choosing whether to sit between his sisters or Laura and Peter when Freddie noticed him. 

She gasped and nearly dropped the forks she’d been handed. “Did you bring your puppy?” 

“No, not today. Sorry.” He wasn’t really sure what to do when faced with disappointed little kids. Peter was the only one around with a child, and Malia mainly lived with her mother. When she did visit, Peter usually wanted to spend time with her and tended to take her out—to amusement parks, zoos, aquariums, anything he thought a twelve-year-old might like—so he was rarely around her. 

“Freddie, please, forks.” Stiles lifted a brow at her and she got back to putting the forks out. 

Derek sat between his sisters, watching as Freddie squirmed in her seat, muttering to Stiles, who was nodding with a serious expression.

“Alright,” Talia said, once everyone had a full plate. “How is everyone doing? Everyone on schedule?”

Laura nodded. “I got the Hollis-Shaw save the dates to Mr. Hollis this morning when he came in to discuss doing a separate shoot for the wedding party before the big day, and the mock up prints for the Big One.”

Stiles looked up, frowning with a laden fork part way to his mouth. 

“Hollis-Shaw cake is finished and ready for _very careful_ transportation,” Peter said. “I’ve also got sketches for the Thompson-McAllister wedding, and the groom’s cake the Roberts ordered is finished.”

They reported across the table and down, used to this. No one asked Stiles for an update, probably because he’d had no clue this was coming.

“What’s the Big One?” Stiles asked after Cora mentioned it.

Laura leaned forward. “A wedding between the two richest families in Beacon County. It’s taken, oh, almost three years to plan it. It’s finally coming up on September 26th, and we’ll be done, _finally._ ” 

“Yes, and it will be all hands on deck for that one,” Talia said firmly. “We’ll _need_ everyone.” 

“Of course we will,” Laura snorted. “The MoB is _insanely_ picky. The bride is, too, I guess, but it’s less intense. She’s precise, the MoB is picky. She’s a snob.”

Talia nodded. “So far, all of them are, but they’re paying customers, and the bride is tolerable. She doesn’t let her mother push her into what _she_ wants, which is a nice change.”

“I see.” Stiles frowned down at his plate.

Derek glanced over at Boyd, then Isaac, but they were too busy talking to Erica to notice. 

Cora set her fork down loudly. “I like the new organization system, and the way Stiles schedules things,” she said bluntly. She looked over the table. “You’re all just being stubborn. It’s working great.” 

Derek scoffed automatically, then immediately felt bad when Stiles glanced down at his daughter. 

Freddie looked nervous, watching the adults at the table the way kids did when they didn’t want anyone to know they were paying attention. 

“Freddie,” Talia said suddenly, “do you like your bedroom? I heard that you finished setting it up.”

Just like that, Freddie’s tension was gone. She brightened and began excitedly telling Talia about how she’d gotten to decorate it herself, and how it was _way_ bigger than her old bedroom in New York.

Derek smiled to himself, turning his face toward his plate; he couldn’t handle how excitedly she was bubbling about the room. 

As they were clearing the table—mostly Derek and Laura, since they hadn’t helped prepare in any way—Talia brought the conversation back to business. 

“The wedding on Tuesday will be the day we see how Stiles’s management is working out.” She passed some plates to Laura. “If things aren’t smoother, we’ll just try something else.”

Derek couldn’t help smirking, even though he _had_ noticed a _slight_ difference in the time it took things to get done. 

“That’s fair,” Stiles said evenly. He leaned in and whispered to Freddie, who giggled and nodded, jumping out of her chair. 

Derek looked away and noticed Laura smirking at him. He flipped her off. Enduring Talia’s sharp reprimand was worth it. 

When Derek got home, it occurred to him that it was Friday night and only eight-forty. He could still go out. He looked at his phone while Viola tore around the backyard. He considered calling one of his regular casual hookups, but he really didn't feel up to it. 

“Guess I’m getting old,” he said to Viola when she knocked into his legs. He rubbed her ears and herded her back inside, flipping the lock on the backdoor. He and Viola flopped on the couch with a book and a movie, and Derek tried not to think about Stiles’s coolly confident expression at all.


	6. Chapter 6

Derek finished his work an entire _hour_ early on Tuesday and he hated it. He didn’t have time to sulk, though; Cora was short two pairs of hands, so he was drafted to transport flowers into place while she and Richard, her long time and one remaining assistant, finished up. The aisles were decorated with white and pink roses and trailing green ivy, which was Derek’s task. After that, they had to prepare the centerpieces for the reception, which was being held down the hall. 

“Derek!” Laura skidded beside him, nails digging into his arm. “Please, please can you get the bulb out of this fixture? I have to go get the spare, there’s glass everywhere, the flower girl is crying-”

“Go, I’ve got it.” He set the last center piece on the only empty table and turned on his heel. The studio was set up near the bridal suite, and he could hear the wailing from the hall. He hitched on a smile and sauntered in. “Hey,” he said as soothingly as he could.

The bride stood, looking startled. “Where is Laura?”

“She ran to get a new bulb. Why don’t all of you move to the suite while I get this cleaned up?” He shuffled all of them out, convincing them they would get some fantastic candid shots in the meantime. He grabbed a broom from Laura’s equipment and swept up the glass first, then turned to the offending fixture, checking that it wasn’t plugged in. He pulled his folding pliers out of his pocket and gingerly worked the base of the broken bulb free. 

Laura hurried into the room as he finished. “You’re a life-saver, thank you.” She kissed his cheek. “Where are they?”

“Bridal suite, probably calming the flower girl down.” His phone began to ring. 

Laura smiled wryly. “Good thing you finished early.”

“Hah, sure.” He stepped out and walked away before answering. “Hey, what’s-”

“ _Emergency in the kitchen,_ ” Isaac said breathlessly. Something crashed, and Erica shouted something. “ _Need your help._ ” 

“On my way.” Derek didn’t run, but it was a near thing. 

The kitchen was in chaos when he got there; there was a cracked plate by the wall, trays scattered everywhere, and Erica was tearing a waiter to shreds. Verbally, so far, but Derek was sure she was going to hit him in a moment.

“- _ever_ even _see_ you within fifteen feet of her again, I’ll rip your fingers off and feed them to you, do you understand me?”

Derek could tell she’d been at it for a while and looked around for an explanation. 

Boyd was talking to one of the teenagers they hired to help serve the food; she looked like she’d been crying recently. 

Isaac went to Derek. “Dickface kept hitting on Bree, and Erica walked in here to find him groping her. Boyd called her parents, Erica’s firing him, and we might be calling the police? She’s sixteen, and he’s _way too fucking old,_ ” he shouted toward the guy. 

He was too busy cowering away from Erica to notice Isaac. 

Derek pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay. I’ll escort him outside. You call the police, have Boyd get back to work, and Erica should stay with the girl. Fucking hired wait staff,” he muttered, stalking toward Erica and the creep.

He saw Derek coming and went sheet white.

Erica shot him a dismissive glance. “I’m not finished,” she snarled. 

“Yes, you are. Boyd has to get back to work, and someone has to stay with her until her parents get here. You. Out.” Derek pointed at the door.

Erica didn’t move.

“Come on,” the man whined. “I didn’t know she was underage. I didn’t even _do_ anything, it was just an ass grab.”

Erica made a dire noise; her hand actually came up, fingers hooked in claws to tear flesh from bone.

Derek grabbed the guy by the arm. “Trust me, this is the better of your options.” He marched him out the side door and hoped none of the wedding party noticed the police. 

Bree’s parents and the police took care of the rest; thankfully, the venue was just down the street from the station, so they arrived in minutes. 

Derek answered as many questions as he could, gave them Erica’s number, and flew back inside to try to repair the damage before any of the wedding party knew anything was wrong. 

Talia was there, wearing a headset and looking frantic; Stiles was beside her, nodding as Isaac explained what happened. 

“You go handle that,” Stiles said suddenly. He looked at Isaac. “Do you guys have extra uniforms?”

“Talk to Erica.” Isaac waved them off and bustled back to preparing dinner.

Derek made it to them after Talia jogged outside to speak to Bree and her parents. 

“Yeah, I’ve got some extra stuff in case of spills. We’re down _three_ waiters, Stilinski,” Erica said flatly. “Do not fuck with me.” 

“I waited tables while I was in college. Give me a uniform.” He noticed Derek and grimaced. “Cora asked me to send you to her. She still needs some help.”

“Waiting isn’t your job,” Derek pointed out dumbly. 

Erica snarled at him.

Stiles shrugged. “Talia said we all help out everywhere. Cora _really_ needs your help,” he added, and followed Erica to the back. 

Derek didn’t see Stiles again until the reception, while he was waiting the tables—he was mostly passing out champagne. He watched him flirt with tipsy bride’s maids and duck handsy guests, pass by a group who’d moved on to harder drinks, and finally stop by Cora to compliment the centerpieces. 

He passed by Derek and paused. “Champagne?” he asked with a grin. He was flushed and beaming, looking like a college student in the slightly ill-fitting uniform. 

“Thanks.” Derek couldn’t help himself and said, “But seriously, it’s not your job. We could have found someone.”

Stiles shrugged. “My job is to help where it’s needed, and the Three needed help.”

Derek sipped at his champagne and asked, “‘The Three’?”

Stiles went red and shifted his feet. “Uh, hah, that’s just…what I call Erica, Boyd, and Isaac in my head.” 

Derek burst out laughing. “That’s great.”

Stiles smiled. “I should get back to work.” He slipped away, pausing at a table of teens who tried to talk him into letting them sip the champagne. “What’s twenty-one divided by sixteen?” he asked, and laughed when they hesitated. 

Derek turned away to find Cora. 

Her job was done, so she was helping Talia get the gifts moved and the keepsakes the couple had asked for boxed up. She glanced at Derek and smirked slyly. “You might as well give it up.”

“Give what up?” he muttered, grabbing three gift bags to move.

“Aside from staffing issues that were out of our control, everything went without a hitch that the clients could see, _and_ we had time to spare to make up for the staff.” 

“Shut-up,” he muttered, but he knew she was right. He left her to help Peter box up the cake for the couple.

“Don’t look now, but we’ve got a weepy MoB,” he said, flicking his gaze over Derek’s shoulder. 

“Oh, _thank you,_ ” the mother of the bride sniffled. “You’ve all been such a great help, you’re _wonderful_.” She tipped forward slightly, toward the cake, and Derek caught her before she could lose an arm to Peter, who’d hunched over the cake protectively with his knife. She blinked tears out of her eyes. “Oh, my, thank you.”

Derek made himself smile. “No problem. Why don’t I take you to your table, and get you some dinner? The food is delicious, it’s personally one of my favorites on the menu.” As he spoke, he gently guided her to a table where her sister and husband were sitting. Derek gratefully transferred her to their care. 

Once a few of the guests had left, and the rest were seeing the couple to their limo, Erica relieved Stiles of his duties. “We can handle the rest. You’re a lifesaver.” She kissed his cheek and shooed at him. “Now go.”

Stiles grinned and went to congratulate the couple, who thanked him, and neatly dodged the bride’s uncle’s grab for his ass. 

The bride socked her uncle in the arm; Laura caught a picture of the moment and sweetly promised it was on the house. 

Stiles found his way to Derek and Talia a few moments later. “Hey, I was going to head out, if that’s okay. I want to get home to say goodnight to Freddie since I’m done already.” 

Talia nodded, then paused. “Oh, Stiles, I completely forgot you rode in with me. Let me get my keys, I’ll get a ride back with-”

“I can drive you,” Derek offered. 

Talia glanced at him warily, but she still had to usher in the cleaning crew and shoo the remaining guests into their rides, and she would feel better having her own car. 

Stiles nodded. “Okay. Thanks.” He had his clothes over his arm, still wearing the catering uniform. 

Derek paused only to wave at Laura and say goodbye to Cora, stomping on her foot when she winked lasciviously, on their way to his car.

The first few minutes of the ride were awkward, and Derek knew why. He cleared his throat. “Sorry for being stubborn. And, uh, for yelling at you.”

Stiles glanced at him and shrugged. “I expected you all to dislike change.”

That…just made Derek feel worse, the fact that Stiles had gone in expecting bad behavior, and Derek had delivered. He flexed his hands on the wheel. “Where’s Freddie?”

Stiles stiffened slightly. “My dad is watching her at the manor.” He had a little bit of white confetti still in his hair, and that uniform was maybe just one size too small.

Derek needed to go _home_ , he was clearly too tired to be around other human beings. But when they pulled up to the manor, Derek found himself walking Stiles to the door, following him inside, and lingering in the foyer. 

Stiles didn’t pay him any attention; he headed straight for the family living room while Derek hovered awkwardly by the door like a forgotten prom date. “Hey, Dad. Thank you.”

“Of course. We had a lot of fun, don’t worry about it.”

Derek stayed in the foyer, listening as Stiles and his father spoke about Freddie’s bedtime on their way to the door.

“Well,” Stiles said, “I guess. But once school starts, she’ll be miserable.” He glanced at Derek, puzzled, but kept walking with his father toward the door.

His father, who Derek suddenly and unpleasantly recognized as the county sheriff, just laughed. “Yeah, and you stayed up _how_ late when you were her age?”

Stiles flushed. “You’re an enabler and a terrible influence,” he mumbled. 

“Sure.” Sheriff Stilinski noticed Derek and his eyebrows shot way up. “Hello.”

Stiles looked confused at his tone.

“Hello,” Derek said quickly. “I was just driving Stiles back from the wedding since my mom couldn’t get away yet.”

“Ah, you’re a Hale. Should’ve figured.” He gestured at his own face like that meant anything. 

Stiles muffled a snort. “Anyway, thanks, Dad. I appreciate it.”

“Anytime, kid. I missed you guys.” He caught Stiles up in a firm, back-slapping hug, then waved at Derek before he left.

Stiles rubbed the back of his head, shaking a little of the confetti loose. “Thanks for the ride. I…” He paused. “Do you hear that?”

Derek listened. “No? Hear what?”

Stiles shook his head, walking over to the stairs. He gripped the banister, frowning. 

Derek went over to him, straining his ears. He heard faint voices, one high pitched and excited, the other low and soothing and sweet, as familiar to Derek as the manor itself. 

Stiles, of course, was not as familiar. “Is—she…Freddie’s talking to someone…” Terror washed over his face and he bolted up the stairs.

Derek ran after him. “It’s okay! She’s okay, Stiles, it’s probably just the Bride!”

Stiles ignored him, flying up the stairs and past his own room to burst through Freddie’s closed door.

“You’re home!” Freddie cheered as Derek caught up to him.

Stiles hugged her while looking wildly around the room; he still looked scared. “Who were you talking to, gremlin?” he asked lightly, though Derek could see his hands were shaking.

Freddie let go and shrugged. “The lady.”

Stiles swallowed. “What lady?” He looked over his shoulder. 

“The _lady,_ Daddy. The _bride,_ ” she said, “you know, in the pretty dress?”

Stiles whipped around, shooting Derek a frantic look.

Derek licked his lips nervously and cursed his mother for leaving this up to him. He couldn’t _believe_ she hadn’t warned Stiles. “The Bride has been here since my mom was a kid,” he said slowly.

Freddie nodded excitedly. She was wearing Captain Marvel pajamas, her hair loose and wavy. “She told me about you and Miss Laura and Cora, and Miss Talia!” 

Stiles still looked badly shaken, but not like he might pass out. “Okay, gremlin. Go brush your teeth, please.”

She looked at her toys, a scattered mix of plastic tools and stuffed animals. “Five more minutes?”

“No. Now.” He hesitated, then said, “But maybe five minutes after you brush.” 

“Okay!” She waved at Derek as she raced across the hall to the bathroom.

Stiles waited until she was brushing to turn to Derek. “What,” he hissed, “ _the fuck?_ ”

Derek shrugged. “She’s a ghost. The Hale Bride.” 

Stiles laughed, then seemed to notice his expression. “Derek, what…”

“She’s been here since my mom was a kid,” he said again. “Maybe my grandmother, too, I don’t know. She usually talks to kids, sometimes single parents.” He shrugged. “I thought Mom warned you she might talk to Freddie.”

Stiles eyed him, like he wasn’t sure if Derek was joking or not. “Oh- _kay_ …” he said slowly, as if Derek was crazy. 

Derek shrugged, kind of embarrassed, but not because he was making it up; he hadn’t been lying. The Hale Bride was as much part of the manor as the wood floors and the Hales themselves. It was just a fact of life, like Cora liking flowers more than people and Laura with a camera attached to her hand. He figured that he'd worn out his welcome with the way Stiles was watching him, wary and tense, so he told him goodnight and beat a hasty retreat.


	7. Chapter 7

Freddie held up a box of unicorn themed Lucky Charms, her eyes big and pleading. Her hair had come loose from its ponytail since they’d come into the store, so it fell in waves around her begging expression. 

“I think we got those last time,” Stiles told her. He gestured at the other cereals. “Try again.”

She sighed heavily. “But they’re _unicorns._ ” 

“It’s a tragedy, I know.” He pulled a hair elastic off his wrist and quickly bundled her hair back again; it had a tendency to catch in things. 

Freddie, used to this, mostly held still until he was done. “Well, which one _can_ I get?”

“Cheerios?” 

She stuck her tongue out. “What if I get Froot Loops? That’s fruit!”

He laughed and tugged the end of her pony tail. “Nice try. Honey Nut Cheerios or I’ll get one I like.”

She looked at the box, then sighed. “Okay.” She grabbed it off the shelf. “Can we get yogurt?”

“Yes.”

She grabbed the side of the cart as they headed in that direction. She seemed perfectly content, so he wasn’t so worried about what Derek had said the night before. 

He’d been trying to gently pry information out of her since then, but so far, all she’d said was that the lady had played trucks with her and had told her about the Hales when they were kids. 

“Did the bride tell you her name?” Stiles asked as they picked out some yogurt flavors.

Freddie shook her head. “She just told me she liked my room. She didn’t ask me mine either.” She spotted yogurt cups with M&Ms in them and gasped.

“Nope. We can get these instead.” He shook the ones with granola.

She studied them seriously, then nodded like a queen accepting an offering. 

Stiles should just let it go. Nothing had happened, no one was hurt, Freddie probably had an imaginary friend, and Derek had probably been fucking with him, which sucked. After the wedding, he’d thought they were getting along finally and Derek had even been nice to him, if a little awkward, on the drive home. Stiles glanced at Freddie warily. 

Was she too old for an imaginary friend? He would have to look it up. Had he isolated her, set her back, by moving?

“Can we get ice cream?”

“Probably not,” he said. “We’ll have to make do with yogurt. Let’s get some dinner stuff. What do you want for dinner on Friday?”

“Ice cream,” she muttered. 

“I’ll choose if you don’t,” he warned her. “Do you need me to give you choices?”

She shook her head, but she was pouting, glaring at the floor. 

Stiles thought she needed a minute, so he said, “I think Thursday we’ll have fish,” in an effort to gently prompt her.

She followed him to the meat department, deliberately dragging her feet. 

While picking out meat for their meals for the week, Stiles got an email from Peter. He looked over the grocery list, plus the message that Peter didn’t have time to get them himself, due to a last minute wedding cake he’d agreed to. 

Stiles replied, promising to get everything, and when he looked up, Freddie was gleefully waving a can of Manwich in his face. Since she’d been old enough to talk, Stiles had let her choose dinner on Fridays—within reason—so he couldn’t exactly say _no._ “Okay, now we have to get some other stuff, then get home.”

“Can we go swimming?” she asked, dropping the can in the cart. 

“Uh, maybe later,” he said shiftily, and tried to distract her. 

“But when is later?” she asked, frustrated, as they were checking out.

They had two separate transactions, which was already stressful in a full line, and a frustrated seven-year-old asking increasingly loud questions as Stiles loaded their cart, which was only making it worse.

“Not today,” Stiles said lightly, “but later.”

“How come? We could put the groceries away and then go.”

“We don’t have time today. Thank you,” he added as the cashier handed over his receipt. 

Freddie grabbed the side of the cart as they headed out of the store. “Why not? I can vacuum my room and do the dishes,” she offered. “Please?” 

“Sorry, kiddo.” He unlocked the car and hit the button to pop the trunk. 

“But why? I can take the trash out, too, Miss Laura showed me where to take it.” 

Stiles started loading the groceries into the trunk. “It isn’t about chores, Freddie. I have to work.”

“You _always_ have to work!”

Stiles felt it like a pinch to the heart and tried not to let her see him wince. “I have to work, so I can make sure you have everything you need,” he said carefully. He didn’t want to snap or waver—he was trying here and he knew, he _knew_ , kids didn’t understand that, that Freddie just saw that her dad didn’t have time to take her swimming, but that didn’t help when he was already feeling guilty about how much time he was spending working since the move.

“I don’t care! I hate being stuck in the house _all the time!_ We never do anything fun and all you do is work!” She started to cry. 

Stiles shook his head and felt like crying himself. “I’m sorry,” he managed. He finished loading the groceries, shoved the cart in the corral they’d parked next to, and gave himself a second to get it together, swallow past the lump in his throat, before he went to get Freddie into her booster seat. 

She was still red-faced and crying, and refused to look at him as he buckled her in.

At the manor, Stiles took their groceries in, set them in the hall that led to the kitchen, then went back to get Peter’s things and Freddie.

As soon as she was unbuckled, Freddie stomped into the manor. 

Stiles followed with the groceries. 

She swung around to glare at him. “I want to go swimming.”

“Not today. And not next week, either, if you keep shouting,” he added, embarrassed that her voice was echoing. 

Her face screwed up, big tears rolling down her cheeks. “You’re _mean_ , and you never let me have fun!” 

Stiles set the groceries down and knelt in front of her. “You need to go to your room and take a breather, and so do I. Go calm down and we’ll talk about it.” 

“I don’t need a time out!” she wailed.

“Well I do!” he snapped. He took a breath, made himself calm down. “I think we both need a time out. We will talk again in a few minutes.”

She turned on her heel to stomp upstairs and slam her door. 

He rubbed his eyes, took a deep breath, and stood. He gathered Peter’s things and went to his kitchen. 

He was there, carefully assembling a tiered cake. He glanced at Stiles. “We’re probably fine for today, if you need time off.” He focused back on his cake.

Stiles gritted his teeth. “It’s _fine._ ” He started putting things away at top speed. 

“I know how it feels.” Peter didn’t turn around this time. “You’re doing a hell of a lot better than I was when my daughter was that age, and you’re doing great in general.” 

Stiles felt his eyes sting. Jesus, he needed to calm down. 

“Go take a break. We got things done fine, if a bit slower, before you got here.” 

Stiles put the last bag of flour away and thought of his own groceries, the laundry he had to fold, his little girl upstairs crying. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Peter shrugged and kept working on his cake.

Stiles went and put the groceries away on autopilot, which was just…Freddie had tantrums, of course she did, she was seven. He’d just never felt as at _fault_ as he did this time. He swallowed and blinked, mortified as tears fell on the box of Cheerios in his hands. 

He finished with the groceries and went to his room, just trying to hold it together. He covered his face and made himself breathe. He just…always worried he wasn’t enough for Freddie, wasn’t doing enough or providing enough or just around enough. Worried that he was somehow hurting her, or leaving her alone too much. 

He sat on the edge of his bed and dropped his head in his hands. What if by moving her across country, ripping up her roots, he’d completely and irrevocably mentally scarred her? It was hard enough being the only one worrying about her, caring for her, and maybe he’d failed. She had other people in her life—Scott, his wife Allison, John, Melissa—but Stiles was the one responsible for raising her and keeping her safe, and healthy, and happy. 

Someone knocked on his door. 

He wiped his face quickly and stood, crossing to the door and opening it.

Freddie threw herself at him, squeezing tight around his ribs. “I’m sorry for yelling,” she mumbled, face pressed into his shirt.

He hugged her back, then picked her up and carried her to his bed. “So am I,” he said, setting her down. He wiped her cheeks and sat beside her. “I’m sorry we haven’t had time to do anything fun. We can’t today, but on Friday, we will definitely go swimming. Okay?”

She nodded and leaned up against his side. “Okay. Can we play a game tonight?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. He’d just chug coffee tomorrow. He knew sometimes he overreacted, but he’d been terrified of somehow messing her up since she’d been born, and being a nineteen-year-old single father for some reason gave perfect strangers a feeling of entitlement; they tended to pass judgement verbally and completely unashamed. Stiles had had plenty of anxious breakdowns about his parenting capabilities. This wasn’t the first and wouldn’t be the last. 

Freddie sighed happily. “I’m glad she told me to come in here.”

Stiles glanced down. “Who did?”

“The bride lady. She told me I should come in here and say sorry, ’cause I hurt your feelings.”

Stiles tried to shake off the chill that gave him. “O-oh. Okay.” _Just an imaginary friend. She obviously felt guilty for yelling._ He couldn’t shake the chill it gave him for the rest of the day.


	8. Chapter 8

Derek grabbed the baby’s breath flowers Cora passed him, twining them carefully with the white roses. The centerpieces they were making were just samples, visuals for the appointments she had coming in for the afternoon. He’d just finished up in the garden, so he was kind of dirty, but the next appointment wasn’t due for a couple hours and it wasn’t like Cora cared; the whole floral room was sprinkled with dirt.

“Thanks,” Cora said when he finished one and started on the next. “I’m nearly done. You don’t have to stay,” she added. 

“It’s fine. I don’t have anything else to do for the afternoon.” 

She shrugged. It took her half the time it took him to finish even a sample centerpiece, which he found both frustrating and unsurprising. “Alright.” 

They’d finished four more, and Derek was considering talking her into taking a lunch break, when three giggling women came in. He couldn’t help glancing at the door, betrayed; Stiles had been their last line of defense against walk-ins.

Cora noticed his expression and snorted. “He took today off, remember?” she muttered. She waved at the women. “Hi!”

Derek stepped aside, pulling a pile of flowers with him. Maybe he could pretend to be busy with some chrysanthemums until they left. 

“Hey! We aren’t having a wedding,” the tallest of them said, leaning on the blonde to her right. “We’re going to see our aunt for the first time in years, and we wanted to bring her some flowers.”

“The _best_ flowers,” the blonde said meticulously. “We’ve done our research, and your bouquets and arrangements are the best in the county.” 

The shortest one with fluffy dark hair waved a credit card. “Money’s no object.”

Derek saluted Cora and sidled out when they began describing their aunt’s favorite flowers. He’d forgotten that Stiles had taken the day off to spend time with Freddie. Derek figured this was why he had gotten several emails about his schedule and also why Talia had been so busy all day. He went to the manor kitchen for some water, leaning back to drink it against the counter. He should go help Laura, since he had nothing to do, or Erica and the guys—the _Three_ , he thought with a snort. Almost everyone could use extra hands at any given time. He grumbled to himself, figured Laura was easier to please, and finished his water. 

As he passed the stairs, he heard whispers. He paused, frowning. 

It was one voice, hushed and panicked.

Derek glanced over his shoulder, but the desk past the foyer was still empty. He went up the stairs and paused at the top.

The Hale Bride stood in the hall, her gown trailing on the floor as she paced. She was young, translucent and sad, watching the door to Freddie’s room anxiously. She paused when she noticed Derek.

He cleared his throat. She was just like he remembered from when he was young. “You shouldn’t scare parents. He thought someone was going to hurt his kid.” 

She smiled and touched his cheek, a cold whisper of air near his face, before turning and walking down the hall. She faded out of sight just past Freddie’s room. 

Derek sighed and went back downstairs. The Bride had never harmed any of the children, and rarely interacted with adults without children. It’d be fine. He was midway down the steps when the front door opened, and Freddie and Stiles spilled inside. 

They were both freckly and a little burned, their hair still wet from swimming. Stiles ran his hand through his hair, making it stand up, and looked up. He blinked, surprised, then smiled politely. “Did you need me?”

Derek blinked slowly and made himself take a breath. “Huh?”

Stiles frowned and gestured at the stairs. “Were you looking for me?”

He glanced back, surprised, then embarrassed. “Oh! Yeah. Uh, do you have my schedule updated? I—don’t think I received the new one.” 

“Oh, yeah, I’ve got it. I can-”

“It’s fine, you can just email it later. Thanks.” _Stop it,_ Derek thought. _He is a father._ But he was also a very attractive man, wearing a damp white t-shirt and slicked-on swim trunks, and Derek wanted to peel them off with his teeth. 

“Do you ever take Viola swimming?” Freddie’s voice was high and giddy, excited from a day at the beach. “Can we come with if you do?”

“I’m sure Derek’s busy,” Stiles said hastily. 

Derek scowled at him. “I’m not.” He looked at Freddie and smiled. “There’s a lake by my house that I take her to. We can go there.”

Stiles stared at him like he was insane, similar to the look he’d given him when he told him about the ghost. 

“We’ll go soon,” Derek blurted. He hurried down the rest of the stairs. “Excuse me, I have to go help Laura.” He felt Stiles staring after him as he went and _wished_ it was because Stiles was also interested, but he suspected Stiles just thought he was being strange. 

Laura was hunched over her computer when Derek got to the studio, growling. A peek revealed she was designing invitations and RSVP reminders for the Park-Tracy wedding. “Sit down,” she said generously. “Welcome to the color scheme from hell.”

He winced. “Why…?”

She glowered at the vibrant orange and yellow invitations. “I _tried_ to talk them out of it, okay? They will _not_ budge. They said their theme is _oranges and lemons._ ” 

Derek snickered. “Well, it is their day.”

“Yeah, but we have to put our name on these things. I _told_ them both that yellow is not going to show up on the orange background, not these shades, but they won’t budge for either color.” She rubbed her eyes. “I’m getting a headache.” 

Derek snorted. “I bet.” He looked around. “Anything you need help with?”

She nodded toward the backdrop area. “Wanna set up for my next appointment? Everything you need is already over there, it just needs to be set up.”

“Sure.” He’d assembled plenty of sets for Laura over the years. As he prepared one of the lights, he asked, “Did you know that Mom didn’t tell Stiles about the Bride?”

“Which one?” Laura mumbled, clearly not paying attention.

“The Hale Bride, Laura,” he scoffed. 

She looked up slowly. “Oh. That…” Her brows furrowed. “She couldn’t exactly say, “hey, so glad you’re working for me and living here, by the way, got a ghost here, no big deal”. He’d have thought she was crazy.”

“He freaked out when she was talking to Freddie, though. He didn’t even know about any of it, and now he thinks I’m crazy, because I had to tell him out of nowhere.”

Laura snickered. “I mean, he’ll see her for himself soon enough, right? So he won’t think you’re crazy for _long._ ” She looked back at her screen and sighed. “Man, I haven’t thought about her in forever.”

“Since we were kids.”

She shook her head. “Since the last time Malia spent the night. Peter was pissed, because she woke her up.” 

“I forgot about that.” Derek started pulling out set pieces and lifted a brow at Laura, holding up a plastic cloud. 

She shrugged. “Clients want what they want.”

He set them aside. While he built it up, he frowned. He wasn’t very close with his cousin—her being twelve, obviously—but it was strange that the Bride had only visited her a couple times her entire life. And it was strange that Peter had been angry at her—she’d sung to Peter as a child, too, after all; played with him when he’d been lonely, told him stories. Derek would think Peter would love for Malia to be treated like a Hale.

_She is a Hale,_ Derek reminded himself guiltily. 

Laura made a guttural noise of rage, distracting him.

“What?”

“Got an email from MoB for the Big One. She wants to change the cake design _again._ ”

Derek frowned. “Isn’t the _couple_ supposed to sign off on that stuff?”

“Yep.” Laura swiveled her chair to face him. “Do you want to tell her that? While you’re at it, let her know to email _Peter_ about the cake.”

“Hah, no thanks.”

They fell back into comfortable silence for a few. Laura was typing, though whether she was emailing Talia or the MoB was a complete toss-up. Derek focused on setting out a seventies-era couch—settee?. He just didn’t understand some of their clients.

The door opened, and Laura said, “Hey!” way too casually for it to be a client. 

Derek turned.

Stiles had changed into jeans and a worn t-shirt. “Hey. We just had a question.”

Freddie had changed into purple jean shorts and a t-shirt with the Wonder Woman symbol on it, clutching her borrowed camera with an eager expression. Her hair was bound back in two braids and Derek couldn’t help wondering if Stiles did them himself. He had to, didn’t he? Then he had to wonder why he was thinking about it at all.

“Shoot.” Laura stood and walked around the desk, grinning.

“Where can I get Freddie’s pictures printed?” He smiled self-consciously. 

Laura held a hand out. “Can I see?”

Freddie reluctantly handed the camera over. 

Laura hummed. “You’ve taken so many pictures! I’m impressed.” 

Freddie laughed delightedly. “I took a lot at the beach and of the road, and Dad—we even got some together!”

“Wow! Well, I can send these in with mine, since I get a discount on bulk orders.” Laura gave him a quote. 

Stiles nodded. “Okay. Thank you.”

“No problem. When they arrive, I’ll deliver them personally.” She winked at Freddie. 

“Thank you so much, I really appreciate it.”

“Sure, no problem.”

“Can we look at your pictures again, please?” Freddie blurted, looking hopeful.

Stiles tugged at the end of her braid lightly. “It’s dinner time for gremlins, and if they don’t eat, they get _very cranky_ , so we better get a move on.”

Freddie sighed, but went willingly enough as Stiles ushered her out.

Derek watched him go, smiling when Freddie started chattering in the hall about Sloppy Joes.

Laura snickered at him.

Derek flushed and set down the lamp he’d been holding. “I better go check—uh, the garden.” He fled.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posting in the early morning because I'm going to Ohio today! i hope you all enjoy! <3

Stiles slapped at his phone, snarling when the alarm didn’t stop squawking at him. He fumbled for it, nearly toppling out of bed, and landed on his elbow, prize grasped firmly in hand. He jabbed the stop button and pried his eyes open the rest of the way. He tossed the phone on his pillow, glowered into the dark, and reminded himself that he’d wanted this job. He got out of bed and stumbled for the shower. 

After getting dressed, waking Freddie so she could brush her teeth and get dressed, Stiles spent an hour looking for his wallet, which seemed to have gone missing. He couldn’t find it, and a glance at the time had him giving up. It couldn’t have gone far. He reached for his belt where he’d left it on the dresser and found that it, too, was not where he’d left it. He sighed noisily and went across the hall. “Hey, gremlin, are you ready?”

Freddie was hurriedly picking up her toys, wearing a frilly purple dress and one shiny black shoe. She looked at Stiles with an armful of plastic dinosaurs. 

“You know you’re going to the park with Grandpa today,” he pointed out. “Are you sure you want to wear that?”

She dropped a pterodactyl and scowled. “The lady said I should wear it because it’s pretty.” She dumped the dinosaurs in her toy box. 

“Do you _want_ to wear it?” he pressed. 

She looked down and shook her head. “I didn’t want to hurt her feelings,” she mumbled. 

“Well, the lady will understand that you’re going to wear what you want, not what she wants. Come on.” He grabbed a pair of jean shorts and a Hulk t-shirt, holding them out for inspection.

Freddie nodded, then tried to pull the dress over her head, inevitably getting it tangled in her arms and around her head. “I’m stuck.”

Stiles helped her change quickly, aware that they were already running behind. “Okay, grab your sneakers.”

“My hair fell out,” she called from her closet.

“Okay. Go sit on your bed and I’ll fix it, but grab your shoes first.” Stiles spotted the elastic by the door and grabbed it.

Heels clicked slowly down the hall.

Stiles peered out of the door, but no one was there. He squeezed his eyes shut, took a breath, and turned back to redo Freddie’s hair.

“You’re going to eat breakfast with Grandpa today, okay? Be good please,” Stiles said as they hurried downstairs to meet John.

Freddie tripped over her own foot, nearly tumbling, and Stiles caught her with his heart in his throat. “Thanks,” she said, oblivious to the near miss. “I’m _always_ good,” she added.

“Gremlins who lie don’t get dessert,” he teased. 

John was on the porch when they got outside, hands in his pockets. He and Freddie ran at each other, and he scooped her up in a big hug as soon as she was close enough.

“Thanks for taking her,” Stiles said quietly, as soon as Freddie was racing across the yard for John’s car. 

“Of course,” he said lightly. “We’ll have fun, and I’m sure you’ll have an easier day at work without having to keep an eye on her, too.”

Stiles sighed. “I feel guilty that that’s true.”

“Stiles,” John said, “you’re a parent, not superhuman. Everyone needs help sometimes. Besides, we’re going to have a blast.”

“Thanks.” Stiles hugged him because he could, because he knew John knew how it felt, raising a kid alone. He’d been older than Stiles was, but still, it didn’t change the challenges much.

John patted his back and let go. “I better catch up to her before she hotwires the car.”

Stiles laughed nervously. He stood on the porch as they left, watching until he could no longer see the car, then went back inside. He felt his pants sliding and grumbled. He’d just look for his wallet and belt one more time before starting work.

He was thinking of all the appointments they had for the day when he walked into his room and paused. The room was frigid, so much so that he was surprised he couldn’t see his breath. He went to the air vent and held a hand up to it, but it wasn’t blowing any colder than usual. He turned around, stumped, and saw his bed. 

His belt laid curled neatly around his wallet, right at the foot of his bed. 

He looked around, creeped out. There was no way anyone had gotten in while he’d been asleep—he’d trained himself to wake at the slightest out-of-place noise, and footsteps especially. He picked the belt up cautiously, running his fingers over the soft leather. Maybe Freddie? But she couldn’t have gotten here without him noticing. He put the belt on, then stuck his wallet in his pocket, casting a long, suspicious look around the room.

He didn't really believe in ghosts or demons or anything, or at least he didn't have time to think about whether he did or not, but his general rule about otherworldly beings was: whether he believed them or not, why risk pissing them off?

So instead of cursing or grumbling to himself, Stiles just said, “Glad to have these back,” even though it seemed ridiculous, and left the room to get to work.

Talia had several consultations lined up back to back all morning, Laura had a shoot, and Cora was moving decorations to a venue; the Three had a sample menu tasting followed by a reception that would take the rest of the day, and Peter was consulting with several clients. Stiles spent the day directing people, walking them to their appointments, and making small talk with people who remembered him from before he’d moved. He scheduled appointments and alerted the Hales to changes, delivered mail—though Talia said that wasn’t his job—and soothed a panicked maid of honor until she’d calmed enough to tell him what’d happened. 

“Two,” she hiccupped, “of the bride’s maids are allergic to the arrangements. They’re all blotchy and we have no flowers.” 

Stiles nodded. “You need Cora.”

She was shivering, so he grabbed her a bottle of water before they headed off toward the flower room. “She’s just—just been through so much, they both have, and we wanted them to have a perfect day.” More tears spilled down her cheeks. “We checked with everyone for the flowers, just in case, but I guess we didn’t wait long enough for a reaction.”

“Cora can help,” Stiles promised. “She’s the best.”

Cora and Derek were loading down Cora’s staff with centerpieces, but Cora quickly agreed to make emergency bouquets, leaving Derek to finish loading.

Stiles left them to it. He was much better at scheduling than dealing with frantic clients, though he was getting practiced with both. 

Isaac stormed out of the kitchen, right toward Stiles. 

Stiles braced himself for yelling, so it came as something of a surprise when Isaac looked relieved at the sight of him. 

“Erica and Boyd are being insane,” he said. “Help.”

Stiles snorted and followed him to the kitchen. 

Erica and Boyd were in some kind of stand-off, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, while something simmered on the stove beside them.

Isaac bolted to the oven in his section, pulling out some kind of bread loaf.

“What’s going on?” Stiles asked hesitantly.

Erica shot him a narrow glare. “Wedding clients want him to use their personal recipes for their wedding.”

“I can do it,” Boyd snapped.

“But they won’t give him the recipes until the _day of_ —just what the dishes are, and I _told_ him that as skilled as he _is_ , he can’t just test out a new recipe on the day of the event!”

“You’re both loud and annoying,” Isaac complained. 

Stiles grimaced. “No offense, but Erica’s right.”

Boyd glared at him. “They won’t part with the recipes until the day of the wedding.”

“Then they don’t get used,” Erica said flatly. 

“And we lose clients,” Boyd replied.

Stiles held his hands up. “What if we told them you can’t make a recipe for the first time on the day, so _they_ can choose whether to give them over or pick another menu?”

Erica laughed mockingly. “There’s no _reasoning_ with them, I’ve already tried.”

“Which is why I said to just let me do it.”

“And if they decided you ruined their wedding because the food isn’t perfect?” Erica snapped.

“ _Waiver,_ ” Isaac sang.

“Shut-up!”

Isaac flipped them both off and put another baking pan of dough in the oven.

“I can try talking to them,” Stiles offered. When they both stared at him, he flushed. “As someone they’ve never spoken to, they may listen a little better.”

“Or not trust you _at all,_ ” Erica pointed out.

Boyd shrugged. “I say let him try. We’re going to lose them _anyway,_ ” he added. 

Isaac slipped between them to stir whatever was cooking on Boyd’s stove. “The only one who works around here, honestly,” he was muttering.

“Okay. Get me names and phone numbers, and anything relevant. I’ll give it my best shot.” 

Isaac started singing under his breath.

Erica snarled at him before stalking to her office.

Boyd nudged Isaac out of the way to finish whatever he’d been cooking.

Isaac rolled his eyes and went back to his section.

Stiles spent two _hours_ trying to convince the Morris-Trudeau wedding to relinquish the recipes they wanted. He finally convinced them by reminding them that they wanted the food to be perfect, which was why they wanted their own recipes used. He sent the email to Boyd, then dropped his head on his desk, exhausted. When his phone rang, he considered ignoring it—it was the desk phone, and therefore most likely not Freddie or his dad—but he made himself answer. “Hale Weddings, this is Stiles speaking.”

A beat of silence, then a short sigh. “ _I may need some help,_ ” Peter muttered. 

“On my way.” Stiles was curious about what would make Peter of all people ask for help, so he rushed to the pastry kitchen. 

Peter was threatening a delivery person with severe maiming when Stiles arrived. “—and I will _know_ if you aren’t careful, so I suggest you drive cautiously. I’ll give you the best tip of your life if this cake makes it to this address in one piece.”

The boy nodded, though he looked unsure whether to be terrified or excited by the money in his future.

Stiles suspected that Peter preferred it that way. He waited while Peter secured the cake in the driver’s car, looking around the kitchen. 

Peter returned. “That cake better get there,” he muttered. 

“Unique method, threatening violence _and_ promising money.”

“Fear and rewards,” he muttered. 

After a beat of silence, Stiles said, “So you needed some help…?”

Peter nodded. “The pantry is a disaster. I’ve been trying to re-organize, but between cakes and tastings, all I’ve done is make it a disaster zone. I’ve got labels and the floor plan in there, but it’s impossible to get all of it done.” As he spoke, he was gathering tools—piping bags and spatulas, fondant and bowls. “I have a cake I need to finish and chill _today._ ”

Stiles nodded. “Leave the pantry to me.” He texted Talia to let her know he would be helping Peter, so he couldn’t answer the phone, then went to the pantry. 

It was chaos, but Stiles had a seven-year-old. Chaos was his second home, and he’d seen much worse in less space. He spotted the labels, the floor plan, and the way Peter had started. He set his phone on one of the empty shelves and got to work.

Peter worked mostly in silence, so Stiles tried to do the same. Occasionally, Peter would ask a polite question about Freddie or how they were settling in, but for the most part, he worked. 

Stiles got curious and peeked, then gasped. “Holy hell,” he managed. 

Peter glanced over, brows lifted. “Should I be insulted?”

“Absolutely not. That’s amazing.” The cake had a hyper-realistic dragon scaling the side, its tail wrapped around the tiers, while fire cascaded down the other side. “I didn’t know you did themes.”

Peter nodded. “You should see the arrangements Cora’s made for this one.” He shrugged. “I’ve done other fantasy themed stuff, too.”

“That’s so cool. Holy crap.”

Peter smirked, then got back to work.

Stiles was pleased with how the pantry was coming together by the time Peter finished the dragon cake and put it in the fridge. He waved off his offer to get back to it himself.

Peter seemed relieved and grabbed a large sketch pad, dragging a chair close to the pantry. 

Stiles took that as an invitation. “Why do we need to be present at some weddings, but not others? I’ve been wondering about it,” he admitted.

Peter nodded without looking up from whatever he was sketching. “Well, for one thing, we’d never have time to attend them all and organize them, but mostly it’s the size of the wedding, and the type of service they want. Small weddings, we can send staff to if they need help. Big weddings that need a lot of hand-holding, we attend. Some couples just want the cake, the flowers, photos, or catering from us, or some combination.” He shrugged and kept drawing. “Talia attends more of them than any of us, as the coordinator.” He hummed and flipped the sketch pad around.

Stiles goggled. “Jesus,” he muttered. 

The cake was drawn in pencil, but it would be stunning once Peter brought it to life, three tiers with a waterfall of butterflies trailing down one side. “The groom studies butterflies,” he said. “I’m drawing a few examples for them to get an idea of what they want.”

“You’re very good at that.”

Peter shrugged, studying the sketch. “I’m better at the actual cakes, but this is passable.” He glanced up, noticed the pantry, and smiled slightly. “Thank you for your help.”

“No problem. Should be easier to find stuff now. I better get back to the desk,” he added. 

“Uh-huh,” he muttered.

Stiles reached for his phone, frowning when it wasn’t on the shelf. He patted his pockets and looked behind and under all the shelves, but his phone didn’t appear to be in the pantry with him.

“What the fuck,” he muttered. He checked the kitchen as he walked out, then his desk. He was sure he’d had it with him, because he’d texted Talia. As he searched, though, doubts crept in. Perhaps he hadn’t. Maybe he’d left it in his room and forgotten? He had nowhere else to look, so he hurried up the stairs. He was just grasping his doorknob when a familiar tune filled the hall. He turned, swallowing, and crept toward Freddie’s room. He opened the door and cursed quietly.

His phone sat atop her toy box, ringing.

He scooped it up and answered. “H-hey, Dad. No, I’m fine. Yeah,” he rasped, looking around the room, “I’m sure. Enjoy your lunch.” Feeling like he was being watched, the hair on the back of his neck standing, he left the room. _Something_ was going on, though he wasn’t willing to accept ghosts yet.

The door slammed when he was halfway down the stairs. 

He looked over his shoulder, heart pounding wildly in his chest. _Ghosts don’t exist,_ he thought, and went downstairs to get back to work.


	10. Chapter 10

Stiles had a headache, he didn’t sleep well, and _none_ of the day camps a reasonable distance from the manor had space for Freddie. 

She was getting incredibly antsy and bored, not that Stiles could blame her, and she was getting on his nerves. 

He was _not_ having a good day. “Freddie,” he tried not to snap, “go get a book or something from your room. I _know_ you’re bored,” he added when she opened her mouth. “Just, please. Something to do until lunch time.”

“Fine,” she huffed, and turned to drag her feet up the stairs.

Stiles grabbed the aspirin he kept in the desk drawer and took a couple with some water. He lowered his head and massaged his temples.

Something outside banged loudly, followed by the noise of a hammer. 

Tears _actually_ filled his eyes. Why _today?_

He made himself breathe until he’d calmed down some, though the pain in his head hadn’t lessened. He couldn’t imagine what Derek was building that was so loud it could be heard in the house from the shed so clearly.

Upstairs, a door slammed.

“Freddie, don’t slam the doors!” He looked up and paused. 

Freddie scowled at him from the middle of the stairs. “I didn’t!” she said indignantly. 

“I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.”

She relaxed and trotted down the rest of the stairs, clutching a book. “Can we go out for dinner?”

“No, we have groceries.” He typed out a response to a client’s questions slower than he normally did, listening to that hammer outside. 

“Can we go swimming again? Derek said we could go with him.”

“Uh, maybe next time I have free time. Sit down, please,” he added. 

She sighed loudly and went to her chair. She swung her legs. “How come we’re stuck here all day?”

“Because I have to work.” He twitched when the hammering stopped, then started again.

“When is your vacation?” She lost her grip on her book and Stiles winced as it smacked into the floor. 

The pain in his head sharpened. 

“Why don’t you get summer break like me?”

“My vacation isn’t for a while and I don’t get summer break because that’s for school, not for work.”

She took a minute to think about that. 

Stiles answered three emails and returned a call in the meantime. 

The hammering stopped. 

He let out a breath. 

“Why did we leave New York?”

Stiles glanced at her, but she was looking at her book, running her fingers over the cover and kicking her legs. “So we could be closer to Grandpa and Uncle Scott and everyone.”

She nodded. “Can we go to Grandpa’s house? He has popsicles,” she added brightly.

“Not today, gremlin.”

A saw started up, high and sharp.

Stiles covered his eyes and bit back a whimper. His head was going to explode. 

“I’m _bored_ ,” Freddie sighed. She started to say something else, then stopped abruptly. 

Stiles lifted his head. “Cora! Hey, everything okay?”

Cora nodded. “Yeah, I just…” She swept her gaze over his face, brow creasing. “I just have a package on the way that I was hoping you could keep an eye out for.” She glanced over at Freddie, back to Stiles, then to Freddie again. “Want to come with me to take care of the garden?”

“Yes!” Stiles and Freddie gasped in unison.

Freddie jumped to her feet. 

“I’ll keep an eye out for your package,” Stiles promised. He’d have shed blood for her at that moment, if she’d asked. 

“Thanks.”

“No,” he said sincerely, “thank _you._ ”

She snickered. 

“Can I water the flowers?” Freddie asked. “And smell them?” She gasped. “Are there butterflies?”

“Freddie,” Stiles called. “Listen to Miss Cora, and don’t wander off!”

“Okay!”

Cora grinned at him and let Freddie lead her down the hall. 

Now if he could just get the saw to stop, the aspirin might have a chance. Stiles figured this was as good as it was getting and got to work while he could. 

Between making appointments and updating schedules, Stiles took clients to Talia, a couple to Peter for a tasting, and a maid of honor to Laura to approve some invitations.

A woman with several garment bags met him at the desk, her face set in an anxious frown. 

“Hello, welcome to Hale Weddings. Is everything okay?” Stiles asked, concerned.

“I’m here for my appointment for photos—Mansfield-Carter wedding.”

“Yes, Laura’s ready for you. I can walk you back,” he offered when she still looked upset. 

She sighed, looking annoyed. “It isn’t that. The man out front is getting sawdust on everything, and I brought my niece, the flower girl, and the noise woke her up. My maid of honor is out there trying to calm her down, but she’s upset and crying, which is obviously not going to look great for photos.”

“The front…Oh. Let’s bring them in, okay? I’ll take care of the noise and sawdust,” he promised. He took the bride, her MoH, and flower girl to Laura, then stalked outside. 

Derek was set up in the front yard, wearing a white tank top, filthy jeans, and a laden tool belt. He was also wearing work gloves and protective eye gear, sweaty and dusted with sawdust. 

Stiles stomped up to him right as he shut off the table saw. “You need to do that in another part of the yard, not the front, if you’re not going to use your work shed.”

Derek barely glanced at him. “I need to get this done.” He was reddened from the sun, his hair standing up in front where he’d been wiping his forehead. 

“You’re disturbing the clients,” Stiles snapped. 

“They never notice me.”

Stiles pointed at the manor. “They already _have_ noticed.”

Derek finally turned to glare directly at him. “The shed has shitty lighting, and I’ll be done soon.”

“You need to move so it stops bothering the clients,” Stiles said through his teeth. _And me. Stop trying to implode my brain._

“I can handle the clients,” Derek snapped.

“You clearly cannot. So _move,_ ” Stiles snarled. 

Derek shot him a dismissive look over the water bottle he was drinking from. “This is a family business, and the _family_ can take care of the clients.”

Stiles thought he might break a tooth, he was clenching his jaw so hard. He threw his arms up, made some wordless noise of rage, and stomped away. He didn’t go to the desk. He went upstairs, threw some things in a bag, did the same in Freddie’s room, and stalked right back downstairs. He paused outside of Talia’s office, to be sure she wasn’t with anyone, then knocked and entered. 

“Are you alright?” she blurted, looking shocked. 

“Not really,” he gritted out. “I need the rest of the day off.”

“Done. Do you need anything?”

He shook his head. “Thanks,” he managed, and left. He scooped Freddie up from Cora, answering vaguely when she asked where they were going. He didn’t glance at Derek as they went to the car, though he heard Freddie shout an excited greeting.

He drove them to the beach; it was crowded, but Stiles didn’t care. Freddie was so excited that she nearly ran in without changing into her swimsuit, which Stiles had packed. He had to bribe her to hold still for the sunscreen. 

Stiles said, “Don’t go where you can’t touch, okay?” and cut her loose. He got in the water, too, of course, so he could get to her quickly if anything happened, but she was a very strong swimmer. 

As the water lapped around his waist, the cool, soothing waves washed away his tension and Stiles relaxed. He knew he needed to be less uptight, that going out and yelling at Derek like he was in any position to tell him what to do wasn’t the way to handle things.

Derek also could have handled things better. 

But, Stiles reflected with a sigh, he was in control of how _he_ acted, not Derek. And, to be fair, Stiles had stomped up to him looking for a fight, pissed off that he was making so much noise while Stiles had a headache, as if he had any way of knowing that. It was just fair that Derek had chosen to fight back rather than cow to his venting. 

“Look at me!” Freddie shrieked, and did a wobbly handstand. 

Stiles applauded appropriately and started calling out scores as she performed a variety of tricks, and ended up being the judge to a group of children doing uneven backflips, splash and jumping contests. 

They ate lunch and dinner at the beach, a phenomenon so rare and exciting that by the time they got home at seven, Freddie was out cold in her booster seat. 

Stiles carried her and their things upstairs, hoping no one was wandering around the manor. He’d gotten a little sunburned, and Freddie definitely needed a shower, but they’d deal with that in the morning. He pried her shoes off, then her sand-crusted shorts and shirt. 

She grumbled, but helped him maneuver her into a night gown before crawling into bed and flopping face-down on her pillow. 

Stiles snorted and turned her head so she could breathe, then gathered up her clothes and shoes. He’d have to vacuum tomorrow, since she’d shed sand everywhere. 

He put her things in the bathroom hamper, then went to get out of his own dirty clothes. 

Soft singing stopped him in his tracks. 

He listened for a moment, holding his breath as the voice grew audible. It was a woman’s voice, singing a song about stars that he didn’t recognize. Stiles stepped back into Freddie’s room. 

No one was there, and the singing had stopped. 

He looked around, but nothing was amiss, the closet still hung open like he’d left it earlier, there were still trucks and dinosaurs scattered by the toy box. 

Slightly creeped out but unable to find a reason to stay, Stiles moved on. He needed to sweep up the sand he’d spilled in the foyer, and maybe grab something to eat because he was starving. He sighed and went downstairs.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 Hope you're all still enjoying!

Derek felt guilty again. He knew he’d screwed up and that he needed to lighten up on Stiles, that he’d had no reason to snap at him, but it was like every time the guy spoke to him, he got defensive. 

It was ridiculous to get riled up, and really, he _shouldn’t_ have been in the front yard, but he hadn’t been able to move his tools and workbench because his truck was blocked in, which he could have just _told_ Stiles, but he’d been hot and irritable already, gross and covered in dirt and sawdust, and Stiles telling him to move like a misbehaving child had set him off.

He swallowed. He was still filthy and felt like no matter how long a shower he took, he wouldn’t get the sweat and grime off.

Stiles had sped off after their argument earlier, taking Freddie, and hadn’t returned until evening. He hadn’t told anyone why, but Cora had found Derek later to tell him off. 

Derek had stuck around, using the downstairs bathroom to clean up as much as he could, and when Stiles had come home, carrying Freddie, he hadn’t said anything. He waited until Stiles was out of sight to sweep up the sand they’d trailed in. 

It wasn’t long until Stiles came back down. He looked spooked, and then, after glancing at the foyer, he just looked lost. 

Derek stepped forward.

Stiles’s face closed off. “Hello.”

“Hey. I, um, I swept up the sand,” he said. 

“I would have cleaned it.”

“No, yeah, I know. I just…I was already down here.” 

Stiles nodded slowly. “Okay. Thanks.”

Derek moved closer and felt awkward, like he didn't quite fit in his own skin, and he didn't know what to do with his hands suddenly. “I’m sorry about earlier,” he said quickly. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

Stiles’s shoulders relaxed infinitesimally. “Thanks.”

Derek nodded. “Can I take you to dinner? To make it up to you?” His hands felt clammy, his pulse quickening in his throat. He was _nervous_ , he realized. He disregarded it and met Stiles’s gaze. 

Stiles smiled tightly. “Thank you for the offer, I appreciate it, but I have Freddie. Goodnight,” he added, and hurried back up the stairs.

He exhaled, deflating like a balloon as disappointment swept over him. His gaze snapped up to the stairs, a flush burning his cheeks. He looked around, flustered, but there was no one around to witness his mortification.

He’d wanted Stiles to say _yes._ He’d wanted to go on a date with him.

Horrified, he turned on his heel and left the manor; he’d make it up to everyone for not saying bye later. He made it to his car and winced when his phone chimed, but it wasn’t his family, irritated that he’d left. 

Braeden, a woman he hooked up with on occasion when she was in town, had asked if he wanted to meet up. 

Derek tripped into the driver’s seat and started laughing almost hysterically. He replied that no, sorry, he was busy, and drove home.

Viola was ecstatic when he arrived; his dog walker had left a note on the counter that said Viola had been to the park and ran into a bench. 

Derek took her out back and sighed, flopping into the grass. He’d been meaning to get a table and some chairs out here for a while.

Viola let out a series of excited barks and raced around the yard. 

Derek closed his eyes. Aside from Viola’s scrambling paws and panting, it was quiet, just the low buzz of insects and the distant rumble of cars to keep them company. The air was warm and dry, an insubstantial breeze kicking up as he sat. 

He stretched out on his back and let out a long sigh. So he was a little attracted to Stiles. He stared up at the sky, blinking heavily. He was an adult. Being attracted to someone didn’t have to mean anything. He blinked again, yawning as the rest of his day caught up with him. He’d just close his eyes while Viola ran off some energy. 

He woke when Viola barked, and found her sprawled and dreaming across his legs, twitching in her sleep. He slapped a mosquito on his arm and sat up. It was still dark out, so he hadn’t slept too long. He yawned and ran a hand through his hair, shaking grass and leaves free, then nudged Viola awake. 

She groaned loudly and got to her feet. 

“C’mon,” he muttered, shuffling her up the porch and into the house. He filled her water and food bowls, then went to the bathroom. He didn’t even bother closing the door before stripping and getting in the icy cold shower. It felt nice on his sticky, overheated skin. He scrubbed and tried not to think too hard, but he couldn’t help it. He thought about Stiles’s face all flushed with temper, and his grin as he served champagne at that wedding, how he spoke to Freddie, how he’d looked the last time he’d come back from the beach, and how today…today he’d been tired and stressed. 

Derek rinsed the shampoo out of his hair and switched the water off, annoyed at himself. He dried off and tied the towel around his waist, then went back to the kitchen. 

Viola was still eating, albeit sleepily, and wagged her tail when she noticed him. 

Derek grabbed some leftovers out of the fridge and scarfed them down cold over the sink.

So, he just had to get this _itch_ out of his system. He just liked Stiles’s face, and his unexpectedly muscular arms, and the way he wore those black slacks, that was all. Just a healthy appreciation for the guy’s form. Nothing wrong with that. 

He paused with a mouthful of cold chicken. He swallowed too soon and winced as it worked its way down.

How would a casual relationship work with a single parent? _Carefully,_ he decided. _Very carefully._

He laughed at himself a little then. This only mattered if Stiles wanted him back. He could be straight; he had a kid, meaning someone with a uterus was involved somehow. Not that that necessarily meant he was straight, but evidence pointed that way. 

Derek glanced down at Viola. “I need to get out of high school and just ask him if he wants to fuck.”

Viola lapped at her water dish.

Derek sighed.


	12. Chapter 12

Stiles thought his first tour of the property was going pretty well. He’d gotten Talia’s blessing to help with tours and consultations, and as this was his first one, he was hoping it went well enough that it wouldn’t be his _last_ one. He was showing some brides and the mother of one of the brides around the manor.

The Young-Bailey wedding would be held on-site, the brides had decided, and they were now mostly talking about specifics and appointments they would need. 

The brides were looking around the ballroom—what would be the reception area—when Mrs. Bailey touched Stiles’s arm gently and leaned in.

“May I speak to you a moment?”

“Sure,” he said, polite but wary. He followed her out to the hall. 

“We all really love the manor,” she said warmly. “And we’re impressed by the services you all offer, but…” She glanced back at the brides and sighed. 

“If there’s something missing, Mrs. Bailey, we will, of course, do everything we can to acquire it.” 

She smiled briefly. “I actually wanted to know if you also offer security.” Her lips pressed together. “Vanessa’s—that is, my future daughter-in-law—mother is…aggressively against this wedding. She’s shown up to things before, and has gotten violent. She’s also made things difficult for my girls.” Her eyes filled, but she blinked the tears back. “I just want to make sure you’re aware. She may attempt to sabotage the wedding by cancelling appointments under Vanessa’s name, showing up under the pretense that the girls sent her…”

Stiles nodded, his heart squeezing for all of them. “Then we will make sure that doesn’t happen. I’ll need her details and a photo, and we’ll come up with a way to confirm it is Vanessa on the phone before any changes are made to appointments.”

She still looked worried. “But the wedding…”

Stiles gently directed her to a window facing the backyard of the manor, usually a gorgeous view of the preserve and the yard, but today…

Derek was out back building an altar today. 

“See that guy?”

“Oh my,” Mrs. Bailey breathed, one hand fluttering up to her throat. 

“Mmhm, makes a very nice view,” Stiles said. “Well, that is Derek Hale, and I promise you, he will be here the day of the wedding to make sure she doesn’t get in or ruin the big day. I don’t think anyone will get past him,” he added gently. 

“Ah…no, I don’t think so.” She smiled. “Thank you.”

“Mr. Stilinski,” Nichole Bailey said, “do you mind if we tour outside again? Just so we can see the garden?”

He smiled. “Of course not. Let me show you my favorite spots…” 

They were having a winter wedding, so they hadn’t spent much time outside considering no one would be out there during the ceremony anyway. They told Stiles after they’d admired the garden for a while that they were ready to start booking appointments.

Stiles happily booked their wedding for them right there in the yard under a lemon tree. “Okay, I can set appointments for you for cake, photos, flowers, and catering consultation and tastings. We also offer videography, but we will have to bring in someone else to do it. Is that okay?”

Vanessa nodded eagerly. “Yes, that’s fine. Right?”

Nichole smiled and nodded, too. “Of course.”

“Perfect. I have all of these dates available for cake tasting, but I recommend doing your consult with Laura for photos first. She can handle all of your invitations and Save the Dates as well as your official wedding photos.”

“Okay!”

Stiles helped them choose the best days and times for all of them—both brides insisted that Mrs. Bailey be there for every step—for every service they needed. 

Stiles was elated as they were leaving, not just because of the money—although keeping the business healthy meant keeping his daughter fed—but because they were genuinely a joy to work with, so in love and optimistic that it was hard not to feel the same around them.

He hurried back to the manor after walking them to their car. He was also excited because that was his first time setting up everything himself, and he thought he’d done pretty well. Everyone had left happy, anyway. He rushed up the porch steps, then ran into someone _hard._

“Whoa! You okay?” Derek caught him by the waist to steady him.

Stiles wavered on the top step, and allowed Derek to tow him back onto the porch. He nearly swallowed his tongue when he looked up. Derek was shirtless and sweaty, wearing his tool belt like he was doing a shoot for a handyman’s charity calendar. 

“Sorry,” he said with a quick, friendly smile. He slowly let go of Stiles’s waist, hands dragging across his ribs. 

“What…are you doing?” Stiles croaked. _And where did your shirt go?_

“Oh, I was just working on the wooden frame for the beach rocks. Plus an altar I need to finish.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

“…Uh-huh. Well…um…”

Derek grinned, slow and wide, and said, “I moved my workbench.” He set his hands on his hips just above his tool belt, like he wanted a medal for doing his job correctly. 

Stiles’s mouth was dry. _Holy fuck. I want to bite him._ He jerked his gaze away from where the tool belt was dragging Derek’s jeans down. “I have work to do,” he rasped and stepped around him to go inside. 

Freddie was still coloring at his desk where he’d left her, thankfully. 

Stiles got a bottle of water and ordered himself to calm the fuck down, oohing and ahhing appropriately as Freddie showed him her picture. He pressed the water bottle to his cheeks and forehead. Clearly, the heat had gotten to him. 

Derek was attractive, but his temper tantrums and entitlement negated that pretty easily, not to mention his little ghost story. 

Stiles jumped guiltily when his phone went off.

Laura had texted. She was doing location photos for a couple, but she wanted Stiles and Freddie to go to her studio, because there was something there for Freddie.

“C’mon, gremlin, let’s go check out the studio.”

She barely looked up from her picture. “Miss Laura isn’t here. She said she had to go make bad decisions immortal.”

Stiles muffled a laugh. “Uh-huh. Well, she asked us to go get something for her. Come on.”

Freddie sighed and set her crayons down, jumping off the chair with some effort. She grabbed Stiles’s hand as they went, which made him smile; she’d gotten old enough that willing hand holding was rare. 

Laura’s studio was dark and cool; it took Stiles a minute to find the light switch. He took a second to observe the studio with pride; it was much more organized now than it had been. Then he noticed the box. 

It was purple and green, sitting on top of Laura’s desk, with a handwritten sign taped to it that simply read _Freddie._

She noticed it, too, and gasped, tugging on Stiles’s hand. “Is it my pictures?”

“I think so. Let’s go open it.” He led her through the studio, then helped her carefully remove the lid.

Her photos were packaged on top, and beneath them was a purple scrapbook, a pile of sticker packs, and a set that read “Scrapbook Beginner’s Kit”.

Stiles texted Laura asking how much he owed her while Freddie examined and shrieked over everything.

“There are _Captain Marvel stickers,_ and sunflowers, and butterflies!”

‘ _It’s a gift. The camera is also on the desk, ready to go. Xoxox_ ’

Stiles looked up again.

Freddie was holding the scrapbook in both hands, knuckles white, eyes bright. “Can I put my pictures in here _now?_ ”

“Ah…” He noticed the packets of glitter in the beginner’s set. “Let’s go to the dining room.” He packed up the box and the camera, and set her up at the dining table. He grabbed a thick towel from their bathroom, spreading it on the table in front of her chair, and helped her lay out all of her new supplies. “Stay in here, okay? If you get bored, clean up your mess and come get me.” 

“Okay! Will you look at my pictures when I’m done?”

Stiles hesitated. “Sure I will. I can also look now if you want.”

She shook her head, throwing her hands over the photos. “You have to wait until they’re in the book!”

“Okay.” He smiled and kissed her forehead. “If you must spill, try to aim for the towel.”

“I’ll try,” she said seriously.

Stiles laughed and left her to it. There weren’t any scissors or anything sharp, so she should be fine. At worst, she may glue some paper to her hand, which was a possibility on any given day already, so he wasn’t too concerned.

Later, as they were getting ready for bed, Freddie couldn’t settle down, bouncing around on her bed and chattering about her pictures and her book. She was in her Black Panther pajamas, teeth and hair already brushed, but winding down didn’t seem to be happening.

Stiles suspected she would be too hyper to sleep if he didn’t slow her down. He shut off her closet light while she chattered. 

“And I got to use all my new stickers and markers. I have a lot of pages,” she bragged, holding her scrapbook up. 

Stiles looked obligingly. “Yes, you do.” The pages were mostly as many photos, stickers, and glued-on piles of glitter as she could squeeze on the page, but the photos themselves weren’t nearly as bad as he’d been secretly expecting of a novice. 

“Do you like it?” She flipped to the next page, finally sitting down in the middle of her bed. 

“I love it. That one is my favorite,” he added, tapping the page next to her left hand. She’d captured a photo of a butterfly resting on the porch rail, most likely on accident, but the simplicity of the photo was charming. “They’re all amazing.”

She beamed up at him, hugging the book to her chest. She fought back a yawn. “Can I take more pictures?” she asked, her eyelids bobbing.

“Tomorrow you can.” Amused, he gently tugged the scrapbook away and set it on her nightstand. “You can also tell Miss Laura thank you, or make her a card.”

“Okay.” She frowned briefly. “Can I take pictures of Peter’s cake?”

“You’ll have to ask him.” Stiles tugged her blanket back, gently encouraging her to lay down. 

She went, blinking groggily. “I’m glad we came here.” She smiled sleepily.

Stiles smiled back. “I love you.” He kissed her forehead.

“Love you, too, Dad,” she sighed. Her eyes slid closed. 

Stiles shut off her light and waited for a second. If he moved now, she’d wake back up, and sometimes it helped him sleep to know she was safe and comfortable. He smoothed her hair back and smiled involuntarily. It was strange, seeing aspects of himself in someone who wasn’t his father, and stranger still that his baby was no longer a tiny, red, squalling newborn.

He swallowed thickly. He’d tried to give her a good life in New York, but their shoebox apartment barely had enough room for one person, let alone one adult and a child who was growing and testing the boundaries of the world around her. Plus, he’d missed home, the quiet lack of urgency that came with living in a small town, the way he could safely let her roam around the manor without worrying about a crowd separating them somehow, sweeping them apart.

He made sure she was still sleeping before he walked away, hands in his pockets. He’d just made it to the hall when soft singing stopped him in his tracks again.

It was a woman’s voice, soft and lovely, coming from Freddie’s room.

A chill ran down his spine. He turned, slow, and went back in. He stopped and stared, too stunned to do more than gape.

A woman stood by Freddie’s bed, singing to her as she slept. She wore a long, elegant wedding dress, her dark hair done up in a complicated twist. Her expression was sad and lonely, longing almost, as she stared at Freddie.

Stiles’s heart was beating out of control, fear making him tremble. The impossibility of the situation occurred to him, but he disregarded it—he had to. He made himself walk to her, found that she was half a foot shorter than him and giving off a faint white glow.

Pearly tears tracked down translucent cheeks when she looked up at him.

“You—you aren’t supposed to be here,” he told her, albeit shakily. 

She stared at him. _Take care of her._ The voice was undeniably hers, honey-sweet and clear as a bell in his head, but her mouth didn’t move.

“I do, of course—of course I do.” 

She smiled slightly and looked vaguely familiar—and then disappeared. 

Stiles exhaled as if he’d been holding his breath. He looked at Freddie, but she was still asleep, undisturbed as though she hadn’t heard a thing. He looked back at where the woman…the _ghost_ had stood, and ran a shaking hand through his hair. He sat beside Freddie’s bed and stayed there all night, watchful and jumpy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooooooOOOOoooOOOOoooooOOOO


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D I'm glad you guys seem to be enjoying it. x)

Derek wiped his hands on his jeans and looked at his phone, grumbling. He glanced at the pile of weeds he’d pulled and stood up, stretching his back and shoulders before heading inside. Cora wasn’t at her work table, but Richard, her assistant, was there, building centerpieces. Derek waved as he cut through. He’d just go ask Laura if she wanted to get some lunch together. 

Stiles was in the hall, staring into thin air near the catering kitchen.

Derek smiled and decided he’d rather have lunch with Stiles. He changed course and said, “Hey.”

Stiles jumped hard and spun around, one hand on his chest.

Derek bit his lip, trying not to laugh. “Sorry.” Then he noticed how pale Stiles was, the bags under his eyes, and stepped forward instinctively. “Are you okay?” 

Stiles blinked slowly, then nodded. “Yeah, I just had a long night. I’m a little tired.” He looked down, then back up. “Did the Bride…did she ever hurt or scare you as a kid?”

Derek’s brows shot up, then lowered as he understood: Stiles must have finally met the Hale Bride. “No,” he said. “She was always gentle and kind, almost mothering.” He moved closer and brushed his fingers lightly against Stiles’s arm. “Are you okay?” he asked again, more gently.

Stiles smiled, wan and crooked. “Yeah, I’m just having an existential crisis.”

Derek studied him. “Do you want to get out of the house for lunch?” When he hesitated, Derek added, “Freddie is invited too, of course.”

Stiles sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Yeah, okay. That might be nice.” He glanced at his watch. “We’ll meet you by the door in ten?”

“Sure.”

Derek took them to Ruby’s Diner to grab some food to go, then drove straight to the park. Freddie was bouncing and squirming in her booster seat the entire time. Stiles made her sit down and eat, which she did in record breaking time—even the small salad, which Derek thought all small children were wired to protest at least for five minutes before eating.

“Can I go play now?” she asked, bouncing her feet against the pavement impatiently.

“Yeah, go on.” Stiles watched her go, his shoulders a tense line until she reached the swing set. “She’s getting tired of being cooped up in the house.” He sighed, then turned back to Derek. “Anything else I should know about the ghost? Is the manor infested with spirits?”

Derek grinned. “No, just the one, and I think you know everything we know about her now.” 

Stiles lifted a brow. “All you know is that she’s a Hale, has been there since your grandmother was a child, and she sings to children?”

Derek shrugged. “Pretty much.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, but he was visibly relaxing as he ate, the fingers of his free hand tapping along the edge of the table. 

Derek decided that was enough ghost talk. “We’ve got an onsite wedding coming up. You ready?”

Stiles snorted. “Not in the slightest. Are they worse or better than venue weddings?”

“Both.” Derek was sort of impressed that Stiles was managing to pay attention to their conversation, his lunch, and Freddie all at once. “It’s not too bad,” he continued. He smirked. “Plus, if we’re short, you can always serve for the night in that uniform again.”

Stiles laughed. “It was way too small.”

Derek took a bite of his burger and shrugged. “I thought it looked good,” he said lightly. He swept his gaze over him. “Not that you don’t look good now.” 

Stiles’s eyes narrowed, mouth parting slowly like he was about to speak.

Freddie knocked into his side, dancing in place. “That lady has a dog and she said I could pet him and I _did_. Derek,” she said seriously, “why didn't you bring Viola? Doesn’t she like the park?”

Derek hesitated, but Stiles didn’t cut in this time, apparently disinclined to save him. “Er, she does, but she had…a play date today, with her friend Josh,” his dog walker, “so I couldn’t bring her.”

“Oh.” Freddie chewed on that for a second. “Okay. Can we stay here all day?”

Stiles smiled. “Sorry, kiddo, no.” He reached out to tuck the tag of her shirt back in. “Go play a little more before we go.”

“Fine.” She threw her arms around his neck for a quick hug before running back to the playground where a group of other kids were waiting. She stopped in front of them and started talking, illustrating her point with expansive and persuasive hand gestures.

Stiles snorted.

Derek grinned over at him. “So she takes after you, I guess.”

He shrugged, propping an elbow up on the picnic table. “Probably. We’re both very good at leading and organizing.” He smirked and gestured at the playground.

Freddie and three other children had climbed the wooden castle and were apparently being knighted by another child with a big stick. 

Derek couldn’t help laughing; he remembered Laura pulling the same kind of stunts on playgrounds, at school, in the mall. She used to make friends wherever she went, usually by rounding them up like cattle and informing them of their fate. 

Freddie wasn’t thrilled to leave the park when their time was up, but Stiles promised they’d go again soon, so she didn’t complain too much as they were getting in the car. “Can we get ice cream?”

Stiles shook his head. “You had ice cream yesterday after lunch, remember?”

“What if I skip dessert tomorrow?”

Stiles bit down on a smile. “No, sorry. We can have yogurt at home instead,” he offered. 

Freddie took a moment to think about it, then sighed. “Okay.”

Derek glanced at Stiles and lifted his brows, impressed. 

Stiles snorted and looked away quickly. 

Freddie spent the drive describing a butterfly she’d seen at the park, filling the car and effectively keeping Derek and Stiles from having any sort of conversation. She bounced out of the car when they finally parked outside of the manor and started to run for the house, but Stiles caught her before she made it off the driveway.

“Hey.” He gestured at Derek expectantly.

“Oh!” She spun around and beamed up at Derek, her eyes sparkling. “Thank you for lunch and for taking us to the park!”

“Thank you for coming with,” Derek replied with a grin. “I would’ve been pretty bored all by myself.”

Freddie nodded seriously and said, “Yeah,” then looked up at Stiles. “Can I go in now? I want to take pictures!”

“Yes.” Stiles backed up as she ran in, following her, but he offered Derek a smile. “Thanks for lunch, really. We needed to get out.”

Derek smiled back. “You’re welcome. I had fun.”

Stiles’s throat moved as he swallowed. “Great. Thanks. I have to-” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Catch up. See you later.” 

“Okay.” Derek waved and grinned when Stiles looked baffled. He could work with baffled.

After finishing the weeds in the garden, he probably could’ve cut out early, but Viola would still be on her afternoon outing and the idea of sitting home alone was unappealing. He washed up with the outdoor faucet in the garden, then slipped in through the floral room.

Richard waved. 

“Is Cora still out?”

“Yeah, she’s helping a couple deliver their centerpieces to a nursing home before they leave for their honeymoon.” He twisted some paper artfully and fluffed it around the centerpiece, then moved on to the next. “I think Peter needed some help,” he added helpfully. 

“Thanks.” Derek waved over his shoulder and left for the cake kitchen. 

Peter thrust a bowl at him as soon as he walked in. “No complaints, just whisking.”

Derek took the bowl and whisk and got to work. “What if it’d been someone else?” he asked just for the hell of it. 

Peter shot him an impatient glare. “Derek, please. I’ve been listening to the sound of your shuffle-stomp for twenty-nine years, I know when you’re coming into my kitchen.” He took a cake out of the oven and set it on the cooling rack.

“Oh-kay, good to know.” Derek kept whisking and wondered how long he’d been shuffling his feet when he walked. “What’s the rush? Get overscheduled?” 

“I did this to myself,” Peter muttered as he slapped tools on the counter. “A couple eloped and want to have a reception but needed a cake last minute and I agreed.”

“Sap,” Derek teased. 

Peter exchanged the bowl Derek had been whisking for another one. “Mix gently,” he commanded. 

“Roger.” Derek watched Peter assembling an already cooled cake for a moment, mildly fascinated as always by the process. “So Stiles had his first encounter with the Bride,” he said with a grin. “Kinda freaked him out.”

Peter fumbled the spatula he was using, then glowered. 

Derek frowned. “What? What’s wrong?”

“What did she do?” Peter asked instead of answering him.

“Uh, I didn’t ask. Probably her normal singing and watching over the kid thing.” He set the bowl on the counter where Peter was pointing. 

Peter scoffed. “Right.” He got back to icing the cake in front of him.

Derek waited, because prompting him wouldn’t help, but clearly something was going on.

Peter was filling a piping bag when he finally spoke again. “As nice,” he sneered, “as she is to children, she wouldn’t _linger_ if she was…content.”

Derek shrugged. “She’s never hurt anyone before.”

“ _Right_ ,” Peter breathed. He dropped the bag on the counter and the spatula in the bowl. “I need a break,” he muttered, turning on his heel and stalking out of the room. 

Derek watched him go with his mouth hanging open. He looked back at the cake, icing, and fondant left out all over the counters. “Fuck.” He’d helped Peter enough in the past to know how to store everything correctly, which was what he did. He had no idea what could upset Peter badly enough that he’d leave his kitchen, leave a cake unfinished and unattended. 

Surely it wasn’t the Bride. She’d been a fact of life at the manor before Peter was even born, a story speculated over but never told, the first friend the Hale children ever had, singing sad and lonely over their cribs as they slept.

Derek wiped down the counters out of habit, checking for missed tools as he went. He was half hoping Peter would return while he was doing it, so he took his time. 

Maybe Peter just got overwhelmed with everything he had to do still and needed a break, like he’d said.

Derek’s phone rang. He frowned and pulled it out, flicking his finger over the screen. “Hale.”

“ _Hey, Derek, we got a little problem at a site. Some of the grass we installed…_ ” Jefferson paused. 

“What?”

“ _It ain’t lookin’ right,_ ” Marcus said loudly from nearby. 

Derek swore. “I’m on my way, send me the address. What’s wrong with it?” he asked as he rushed out of the kitchen. 

“ _Um, hmm…mismanagement by property owners?_ ” Jefferson suggested delicately. 

“ _Someone pissed in the yard,_ ” Marcus reported. 

“I’m on my way,” Derek repeated, and hung up.

The property owner was the mother of the groom, and she’d signed all sorts of paperwork ensuring she understood how to take care of the careful landscaping they’d done and didn’t require their continued help with it. Derek, with the help of a mortified Jefferson and a delighted Marcus, explained to her why just that patch in that one spot of the yard was yellowed and dying.

She shook her head, more baffled than angry. “We don’t have any pets. I don’t see how…doesn’t that take a while to…affect it?” Her brows furrowed. 

Marcus stepped up for a cheerful and detailed chat about nitrogen, ammonia, and young grass, all delivered in his smooth as honey, aw-shucks-ma’am southern accent, which he was laying on pretty thick at the moment.

Derek and Jefferson left him to it while they went to investigate the dead grass. “No dogs,” Derek mused. “Any guesses?”

“Crazy cousins?” Jefferson nodded toward the house. “Or bachelor party?”

Derek followed his gaze.

They were being watched by some _very_ nervous looking men. They also, Derek noted grimly, looked intensely hung over. 

“Great,” he muttered. 

The ordeal ended with Mrs. Cartwright shouting all of the groom’s friends out of the house, into the blazing sun, to do whatever needed doing to get the yard looking nice again. One of them wept. They were all dehydrated, hungover, and reeked like a bar bathroom. 

Marcus bowed out to let Jefferson have at it, sauntering over to Derek. “Y’all get a lot of this?”

“No.” Derek shook his head. “I can genuinely say this is a first. But there’s plenty of nonsense in other forms,” he added when Marcus looked disappointed. 

“Perfect.” He clapped Derek on the shoulder delightedly and went to join Jefferson.

Derek didn’t make it back to the manor until nearly six, when everyone was basically finished up for the day. 

Cora was leaning over Stiles’s desk when he walked in, writing a note.

Derek peeked over her shoulder and got an elbow to the ribs as punishment. “ _Ow._ ” 

“Serves you right.” She folded the paper with quick snaps, then turned around to face him and arched a brow. “Why didn’t you just go straight home?”

“I wanted to talk to Mom,” he said distractedly. “What were you writing?”

“Hmmm, that sounds like none of your business.” She pulled a piece of tape from Stiles’s dispenser and carefully stuck the note to his computer monitor. “What’d you need to talk to Mom about?”

“Peter’s being weird. Why don’t you just text him?” He gestured at the note.

Cora smiled, brittle. “Handwritten notes are more romantic,” she said, and Derek’s heart dropped. _Oh no, oh no._ Then she started laughing, bowing forward and cracking up. “Oh my _god_ , you should see your face.” She sniffled, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. “It’s just a scheduling reminder, dumbass, I didn’t want to bother him while he was feeding Freddie dinner.”

“Oh.” He glanced at the note and away, and cleared his throat. It wasn’t like he’d been _upset_ or anything, just…mildly horrified that he and Cora might have been interested in the same man. “Where’s Mom?”

Cora waved over her shoulder. “In her office.” She grabbed a shopping bag next to her feet and straightened. “I’m going to Laura’s tonight,” she explained. “It’s Whine and Dine night.”

Derek made a face. “Why don’t I ever get invited to your complaining sleepovers?”

“Aww, you can come next time.” She patted his hand. “We’ll do face masks and paint your nails and have cabernet.”

Derek snorted. “Yeah, okay.”

Cora laughed and went past him to the door, her bag crackling quietly. 

Derek shook his head, amused, and figured in a week or two he’d invite them to his place to spend non-work related time together. He’d get a bunch of junk food and make an event out of it, rather than crashing their time. 

“Oh, hey.”

Derek spun around and grinned when he saw Stiles. “Hey.”

Stiles lifted a brow. “Did you need something?”

“Hmm? Oh, no. Cora was here and she distracted me.”

“Oh…kay…” Stiles stepped around the desk and bent down. 

Derek leaned forward, watching him hunt around under the desk, feeling blindly in the dark, until he straightened with a blue crayon clutched triumphantly in hand.

“Freddie needs this one,” he said solemnly. “There aren’t any other blues that will work _quite_ like this one.”

Derek laughed.

Stiles smiled. “Were you staying? Talia didn’t mention another dinner…”

“Oh, no. I just wanted to say bye before I left.”

He frowned slightly, brows furrowing. He’d taken his tie off for the evening, and he looked rumpled from a day of working and chasing after Freddie, tired but still willing to go hunt down a blue crayon for his daughter. “Okay,” he said slowly. “Bye?”

Derek smiled. “Bye, Stiles. Have a good night.”

“You, too,” he said faintly. He looked confused as Derek walked away, like he couldn’t fathom why Derek would stay just to say bye to him.

Derek would help him figure it out soon enough. 

It wasn’t until he was halfway home that he remembered he’d meant to talk to Talia about Peter. He’d do it the next time he saw her; Peter was probably just overworked, anyway.


	14. Chapter 14

Stiles didn’t really know what Derek was doing, but if he was trying to be friendly, well, Stiles could be friendly, too. He extended an invitation to Derek to join them for lunch, then made an extra one with his and Freddie’s; it was just peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, apple chips, some mixed veggies and sliced strips of cold, leftover baked chicken, but he hoped Derek would appreciate the gesture.

Freddie danced around his legs. “Are they done? Can we get them out yet?”

Stiles finished packing the last sandwich. “They’re done, just let me finish this.”

She nodded, but she was still antsy, bouncing around on her tiptoes.

She’d begged the night before to make some treats for Viola, and so they’d looked up safe recipes for dogs together. They’d been in the fridge solidifying all night. 

“When will Derek get here? He said he was gonna eat lunch here,” she said accusingly.

“He’ll be back. He just had to go help Mr. Jefferson and Marcus with some stuff.”

Freddie’s eyes narrowed. She’d met Derek’s landscapers on accident two days previously; she’d been creeping around taking sneaky pictures, and Marcus Dewitt, a childish man himself, had seized the opportunity to pop out of a hydrangea bush shouting. 

Freddie’s scream could’ve shattered glass, and Stiles had never run like that in his _life_. 

Freddie was not fond of Marcus.

“He’ll be here soon,” Stiles reiterated. He set the stack of lunches aside and pointed beside where he was standing. “Get your step stool and we can put Viola’s treats in a special box for her.” Sure, the boxes were bought with cookies for _people_ in mind, but they could get some more, and Freddie was so excited about it. 

Freddie ran for the pantry, where they kept her step stool stored. 

Stiles got the box down and quickly unfolded it so it was standing up and ready to be filled, then grabbed the treats from the fridge.

Freddie set her stool down and scrambled up, brushing her hair out of her eyes impatiently. “Can I get them out?”

“Yeah, go ahead.” Stiles stepped around behind her to fix her hair while she got to work. 

They’d had a candy mold leftover from last Halloween, so the treats were bat shaped, but Stiles figured Viola wouldn’t care. 

Freddie was surprisingly gentle as she worked the treats loose, tongue stuck between her teeth in concentration. “Can we get a dog?” she asked as she set two carefully in the box. 

Stiles fumbled the elastic and winced. He’d been both dreading and expecting that question for a while. She’d asked a lot in New York, but the move had distracted her. After she’d met Viola, Stiles had expected it that night.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want a dog; Stiles loved animals, too, and even thought it might be nice for Freddie to have a pet. It was just not a great time for another responsibility.

“Not yet,” he said with care. He grabbed the elastic and finished pulling her hair back.

“But you _always_ say not yet.” She put another treat in the box.

Stiles sighed. “I know, but that’s because we can’t yet.” He wasn’t sure how to phrase it in a way that she would understand but that wouldn’t be too damaging. He stepped up beside her again so he could see her face. 

She was pouting and wouldn’t look at him, focusing her concentration on the treats. 

Stiles sighed again. “You know I want to get a dog, too,” he said carefully. 

She scowled, but nodded after a second.

“But we still have a lot to do for now, and if we had a dog, they would probably feel bad, because we wouldn’t be able to give them the attention they need. Okay?”

“Okay,” she mumbled.

“But later, when we have some time, we’ll talk about it again.”

She nodded without looking up.

Stiles wondered if he’d ever stop feeling guilty when he disappointed her. 

Thankfully, she was easily distracted for the moment, so when Derek returned to the manor with Viola, Freddie quickly slammed the lid on the box of treats and jumped off of her step stool.

Stiles grabbed their lunches and followed her out.

Derek was holding onto Viola’s collar in the dining room. “Hey.” He grinned. “I guess you guys don’t want to go out to eat again.”

Stiles’s cheeks flushed. Should he have offered to buy Derek a burger instead? 

“Dad made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and they’re _the best_. My friend Cathy’s mom used to make really bad ones and she asked Dad to make hers _and_ her little brother’s.”

Stiles put a hand over his face. “We can get something else if you want,” he offered. 

“No way.” Derek smirked. “Now I have to try these famous sandwiches.”

Stiles glowered at him. “Don’t make fun. We’ll eat in the yard, like a picnic.”

Viola suddenly let out a long whine, squirming against Derek’s grip on her collar. 

Derek stroked her ears and shushed her, grimacing at Stiles like an embarrassed parent, which was endearing. 

Once they were outside, Viola tore off to do laps around the yard. 

Stiles nudged Freddie and nodded at the box still clutched in her hands.

She walked up to Derek. “We made treats for Viola so she can eat with us,” she boasted, thrusting the box straight up and nearly socking Derek in the nose with it.

He reared back just in time. “Oh, wow. Thank you.” He glanced at Stiles, then down at Freddie. “Do you want to give some to her? She’ll do some tricks if you ask nicely.” 

“Yes, please!”

While Freddie and Derek had Viola sitting, laying, rolling over, and shaking hands, Stiles set up their lunch under a tree. He’d slathered Freddie in sunscreen before making lunch, but he was thinking he should have reapplied before they came out. He texted Scott.

‘ _Remind me to get Mel and my dad flowers and a trophy for keeping us alive into adulthood._ ’

Scott’s response was immediate and amused, so Stiles spent some time texting him and making plans to surprise their parents soon. Stiles thought John might just burst into mortified flames if a flower arrangement got delivered for him at the department, which was definitely why Stiles _had_ to do it. He wondered if he could get Cora to make the arrangement; better to pay her than a florist he didn’t know, and he could watch her make it.

Freddie laughed, cheering, “One more!”

Stiles looked up to see Derek scrubbing a hand over Viola’s ears, then taking several steps back.

Viola watched him eagerly, her tail wagging a mile a minute. 

Derek mimed tossing the treat, ensuring she was watching, before he actually tossed it.

Viola reared and nipped it neatly out of the air.

“Yes!” Freddie cheered, then fell to her knees to give Viola a full body pat. 

“Okay,” Stiles called, “come eat!” He dug a bottle of hand sanitizer out of his pocket, since sending Freddie inside to wash her hands seemed mean.

Freddie crashed into his side, giggling breathlessly. “Did you see the tricks Viola did? We gave her treats and she’s _really_ smart, but Derek said we can’t give her too many because she’d get a tummy ache like I did on Halloween.”

“I see. Well, I guess you just have to reward her by telling her how good she is.” He squirted hand sanitizer in her cupped palms, then passed her lunch bag over.

Derek sat down next to Stiles and grinned when he was given his own lunch. “Thanks.”

Stiles checked that Freddie was distracted digging out her food. “Sorry about this, I wasn’t thinking that you might want to go out-”

“Don’t be sorry. I appreciate it. Plus,” he pulled out the carefully wrapped sandwich, “no one makes PB&Js quite like a parent.” He unwrapped it and took a bite, then let out a long, satisfied sigh. “Yep. Awesome. Did you toast the bread?” he asked incredulously.

Stiles laughed a little. “Um, yeah. It’s Freddie’s favorite, so…”

“It’s great.” Derek was finished even before Freddie, who was a champion at inhaling her food and giving Stiles a heart attack.

While they were finishing their meal, Viola came gamboling toward them with a large stick in her mouth. Stiles shot an arm out to keep her from bowling Freddie over and ended up on his back in the grass for his efforts.

Viola planted her paws on his shoulders, gingerly set the stick on his neck, and started licking his face. 

Freddie laughed hysterically, leaving Derek to haul Viola off by himself. 

Stiles stayed where he was. 

Derek leaned over him, clearly trying not to laugh. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, I’m fine. I have dog slobber all over my face and grass stains on my shirt.”

“Your tie is wrinkled, too,” Derek pointed out helpfully. He pulled Stiles up into sitting position, grinning over their clasped hands. 

Stiles gulped and carefully pried them apart. 

Viola and Freddie had taken off to play fetch in the yard. 

Stiles groaned and wiped his face on his shirt, since he’d have to go change before getting back to work anyway. “Well, at least I already finished eating.”

Derek laughed. “You make pretty good lunches. I’m surprised Freddie ever wants to go out to eat.”

Stiles snorted. “She negotiates a _lot._ Trust me, she wants to go out.” He watched her throw the stick, laughing as Viola went crazy for it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Derek turn toward him, felt his stare like a physical weight.

“Yet somehow you get her to eat fruits and vegetables without a fight,” Derek said lightly.

Stiles shrugged. “It’s just a matter of distraction, and honestly, the fact is that as much as she’d _like_ to eat burgers and fries for every meal, she will eat whatever’s in front of her by the time she’s actually hungry.”

“Well, you’re still pretty good at it, and I’ve seen you talk a bride out of punching her fiancé’s best man, so I’m not just saying that.” Derek smiled, looking almost sweet. “You’re a good addition here. I’m glad you came.” 

Stiles turned to face him then, gaze flicking from his smile to the way he’d ducked his head slightly, the bright look in his eyes. Stiles opened his mouth, confused, but couldn’t think of what to say. Surely Derek wasn’t flirting with him. He was just being nice. 

“Dad! We’re playing tag!” Freddie called.

Stiles jumped to his feet. “I’m gonna, um. Go play tag.” He was too surprised to say anything when Derek joined them.

They raced around the yard together, with Freddie shrieking delightedly and Viola racing around completely oblivious to the rules, and Stiles thought maybe he’d be a little okay with Derek flirting with him. Just a little. 

The Roboff-Perry wedding on Thursday was being held at the manor—the ceremony was outside, and the reception would be in the ballroom. Freddie was spending the day with Scott and Allison, even though she’d begged to stay for the party, and she’d probably already forgotten about it, since they were going to a waterpark.

Stiles was helping Talia direct guests to the seating area before the ceremony while everyone else ran around.

“Yes, you, too,” Talia said warmly. “I’m sure the bride will be around to thank you _after_ the ceremony.”

The man was wearing a lurid blue and white checked suit and a pompous sort of look on his face. “We always bring the best gifts,” he insisted. “I just want to be sure that the bride knows who brought it.” He stalked away to his seat.

Stiles quickly helped the groom’s great-aunt walk to her seat.

“That’s my nephew,” she said loudly. “Always did think highly of himself. Worries about everyone _else_ thinking highly of him, too, which is his problem.”

Stiles hummed noncommittally. 

“That suit is ugly as sin, though.” She patted Stiles’s arm when he let out a badly muffled squawk of laughter. “You look nice, dear, are you sure you aren’t one of my grandchildren?”

“No, ma’am, I’m afraid not.” He helped her sit in the shade. “Do you need water or anything?”

She waved him off. “No, you’re fine. Thank you. Oh, dear, if you could, make sure to seat my nephew far away from me and my row.” 

Stiles laughed. “We can do that.” He went back to Talia. 

“Probably just a few more immediate family members,” she murmured. She checked her watch and huffed. 

“We’re still on time.”

She smiled wanly. “Early is always better in this business.” 

Stiles started to speak.

Derek ran by with a fire extinguisher at breakneck speeds.

Talia kept facing forward. “I don’t want to know.”

Stiles said, “It’s probably fine,” uneasily.

Talia folded her hands. “If it’s Peter, we’ll know soon enough.” 

The groom’s grandmother arrived before Stiles could respond, and needed help finding her seat. Stiles gratefully offered his arm.

The ceremony went fine, or at least there were no screams while Stiles, Talia, Richard, and Cora made sure the ballroom was presentable. It looked immaculate by the time the wedding party and guests were trooping inside. 

“I’ve just watched two bridesmaids slam back champagne like tequila shots,” Stiles muttered to Cora. “Is that normal or just this wedding?”

Cora laughed. “Oh,” she said, watching his face, “you’re serious. Yeah, we aren’t the only ones feeling the wedding day stress.” She moved to stop some kids from tossing a centerpiece around. 

Stiles shook his head. Most of their jobs were done now—just catering and cake left—so he could stand out of the way unless anyone needed help.

“No, fuck you,” came from near the cake table, and there went the peace. 

Stiles turned.

Two of the uncles from the bride’s side were shoving each other, a glass broken at their feet, while Peter watched from behind the cake holding a knife.

Stiles rushed over, hoping he could break it up before anyone noticed or got stabbed. “Hey, guys, come on.” He put his hands up, starting to slide between them. 

Peter let out a guttural noise when they shoved each other closer to the cake. 

Derek rushed over. “Guys, come on, let’s move this away from the cake before the bride and groom notice you.”

“He took my fucking wallet!”

“No, I did not!” The men lunged at each other again, scuffling further away from the cake, thankfully. 

Stiles glanced at Derek, who looked a little wild; he hadn’t seen him since he’d run by to put out the apron that’d caught on fire in the catering kitchen. 

Derek shrugged and stepped over, grabbing one of the men by the shoulder. “Hey, come on, you don’t want to upset Stacy and Jesse-”

The man he’d grabbed swung around, his fist already flying.

Derek stumbled back as his fist met his mouth, his shiny dress shoes sliding on the polished floor. 

Stiles jumped in and grabbed him before he could throw another punch, but it seemed unnecessary: both men looked stunned that they’d hurt someone else.

Derek grabbed the other guy and together he and Stiles hauled them outside. 

Talia ran to catch up with them. “You two can go,” she said out in the yard. “I can handle them.” She paused to frown over Derek’s swollen, cut lip before turning to the two rumpled men like a hungry wolf. 

Stiles met Derek’s gaze. They simultaneously decided not to argue and hurried back inside.

The lights were low and everyone was out on the dance floor, thankfully, so no one had noticed the fight. Stiles went over to the bar. “Hey. Can I get a cup of ice?”

“Sure. Anything stronger to go with it?” The bartender, Vince, grinned and winked. 

Stiles laughed. “No thanks, just the ice for now. If there’s another fight, I’ll be back,” he added, “possibly for some vodka.” 

Vince snickered and passed the cup over.

Stiles took it and a stack of napkins, turning to scan the room; he spotted Derek sitting at a deserted table and went to him. He set the cup and napkins on the table, quickly making an ice pack and ignoring Derek’s intense gaze. “Here, so the swelling goes down.”

Derek took it and grinned at him. “Thanks.” He set the ice against the cut on his mouth and winced. 

Stiles looked down at him and sighed. 

“Want to dance?” Derek asked, eyes gleaming.

“Keep icing your lip, Romeo.”

He snorted. “Romeo wasn’t very romantic.”

“Are you trying to be?” Stiles shot back.

“Do you want me to?”

Stiles sighed again and leaned down, pressing a dry, chaste kiss to Derek’s chilled mouth. “It’d be too complicated.”

“Why?” He lifted his gaze. “Doesn’t have to be.”

Stiles laughed helplessly. “It always is.” He stepped back. “I’m going to see if the Three need help.” He walked away quickly, and once he was in the hallway and out of sight, he leaned back against the wall next to the flower room and closed his eyes. His heart was beating out of control with anticipation, mouth tingling from just that little bit of contact.

He hadn’t gone on a date or even just kissed anyone like that, chaste as it was, with interest, in a while. He’d kissed skinned knees and microscopic booboos, smoothed band aids over papercuts and—he’d gone on a few dates since Freddie was born. It was just hard, living so far from family and close friends; he hadn’t been comfortable leaving Freddie overnight with a babysitter, even ones he’d known a while. He’d left her with someone maybe three times until nine or ten at night, just long enough for a quick date or impersonal hook up.

It wasn’t that he’d meant to put every aspect of his life on hold for Freddie, it was just…easier to focus on her and what she wanted and needed than to deal with his own wants and needs. Such as adult companionship. 

Someone’s shoe scuffed the floor.

Stiles opened his eyes just as Derek spotted him. Hadn’t he moved them across the country so they could be closer to family, so Stiles could let Freddie have sleepovers and so he could let himself have a social life? So they could be settled and comfortable where they were?

Derek leaned against the wall next to Stiles. “It doesn’t have to be complicated,” he said lightly. “Could be fun."

Stiles didn’t look at him. “I have a kid. Of course it’s complicated. It’s part of the package.” 

“It isn’t like we’re getting _married_ ,” Derek laughed. “I’m attracted to you, I think we’d have fun together, but it doesn’t have to be serious.” 

Stiles flicked only his eyes over, but Derek was watching and caught him anyway.

“Just fun,” Derek added with a slow curling grin.

Stiles looked him up and down, swallowing. “Fuck,” he muttered, “okay.” He grabbed Derek by the jacket and yanked him in. Their lips met with a wet click and slide, mouthing tentatively at each other first. Stiles groaned quietly and slid a hand into Derek’s hair, opening his mouth invitingly.

Derek didn’t disappoint, licking in with enthusiasm and dropping his hands to Stiles’s hips. He started walking them sideways, then fumbled with something behind Stiles’s back until a door opened and they stumbled. 

The scent of flowers bombarded them, drowning out any other smells lingering on their suits. Derek’s mouth tasted like the champagne he’d sipped and blood from his lip as their kissing split it open again.

Stiles reared back as he realized. “Sorry, are you-?”

“I’m fine,” Derek rasped. He dragged Stiles in again; his mouth was soft yet demanding, eager and wicked as their breath mingled. He let out a quiet curse as they pulled apart to gasp, though they didn’t stay apart for long.

It’d been so long since Stiles had kissed or been kissed like this, hot enough to burn and thorough enough to weaken his knees. So long since someone had held onto him like the thought of letting go was painful.

Stiles’s hand was still clawed in Derek’s hair, holding him in place until he’d had his fill. 

The music from the ballroom stopped, something shattered, and a cheer went up.

Stiles reluctantly pulled back, panting. He licked his tingling lips, staring at Derek.

Derek was staring back; his hair was crazy, tie crooked, jacket wrinkled, but his expression more than made up for it. “We’ll finish that later,” he promised.

“Looking forward to it.” Stiles swayed forward for one more kiss, long and slow and lingering, a thorough taste to get him through the wait. Then he left Derek dazed in the flower room.


	15. Chapter 15

Derek was in a pretty good mood, despite the fact that he was hauling hundreds of pounds of rocks across a beach under the hot, midday sun. The wedding was at sunset, though, and they had to get the aisle set up how the bride wanted it before the guests began arriving.

Marcus and Jefferson had dug out a space in the sand and installed the wooden frame Derek had built, so all that was left were the rocks and to get out of the way. 

The couple had only hired him for this, and Cora for the flowers; they’d gone elsewhere for the rest, so their job was ninety percent done already.

Derek thought about that kiss with Stiles while arranging the rocks. He was sweaty and had sand in his shoes somehow, but he couldn’t be mad about it. That kiss was…a very good indicator of what was to come, he suspected.

“Man, what’s got you grinnin’ in all this heat?” Marcus asked.

Jefferson scoffed. “Aren’t you from the south?”

“Yep. We got so much humidity, we don’t walk, we swim.” Marcus wiped his face. “But I ain’t used to this dry heat.” His bright blue eyes fixed back on Derek and he grinned. “Got you a girl on your mind?”

“ _Marcus,_ ” Jefferson admonished.

“What?” he replied innocently. He looked back at Derek. “Guy on your mind?” When Jefferson protested, he said, “Hey, only thing that gets someone grinning in this fuck damn miserable heat is sex and cobbler.” He squinted at Derek.

Jefferson looked reluctantly amused.

“Definitely the cobbler,” Derek said dryly. “Now let’s finish these so we can get the hell out of the heat.”

“Hell yeah,” Marcus cheered, for some reason. 

They finished just before the guests began arriving. Jefferson and Marcus had driven together, while Cora had ridden with Derek.

“It actually looks pretty nice,” Cora commented, looking at the aisle as they drove away.

“Oh, thanks,” Derek said dryly.

Cora smacked his arm. “You thought it’d look tacky, too.”

“Yeah,” he admitted. He flicked the radio on and let an 80s hairband fill the car, tapping his fingers along the steering wheel. He was excited and a little jittery with it. He and Stiles had plans to meet up at his house later, maybe to make out more, maybe to just jump each other, they hadn’t really discussed it. He shifted in his seat and flexed his hands around the wheel. Whatever they did, he was excited for it; he hadn’t had a kiss that hot in a while, and he was eager for more.

“Why are you so squirmy?” Cora asked, poking his arm.

“I’m not.” He shrugged. “I’m planning to hang out with Stiles tonight,” he admitted. 

Cora snorted. “Is that code?”

He closed his mouth.

“Derek!” She smacked his arm. “What is wrong with you? What are you thinking?”

He looked at her swiftly, surprised. “I like him,” he said defensively.

“You like his _ass_ ,” she snapped. “Have you considered how this will affect the business? Or his child?”

Derek shot her a quick glare. “It’s just casual fun, it doesn’t have to _affect_ anything or anyone.”

Cora snorted and fell silent, her arms crossed in front of her. She looked deeply disapproving which sort of pissed Derek off; he didn’t need her permission to ask out someone he liked. 

He glowered as guilt started churning in his stomach. Was she right? Was he about to make a really bad decision? He shook his head slightly and focused on driving. 

He didn’t say much when he dropped Cora off at the manor; he didn’t even get out of the car, glowering after her as she stalked inside. He clenched his jaw when the door slammed behind her, then, with a muttered curse, he turned his truck around to leave the manor. He wanted to clean his house a bit before Stiles arrived anyway, and take care of Viola. 

He greeted Viola when he walked in the door, forgoing his shower to let her out in the back for a while. He had time.

While she was doing laps around the yard, Derek left the door open and started cleaning up the house. It wasn’t like he lived in a pigsty, but on occasion, he let things sort of get away from him—little things. Dusting, vacuuming, that sort of thing. It seemed rude to have someone over but not clean the house, so Derek busted out the Swiffer and got to work. 

He was pretty much done with the laundry and halfway done with the dusting when Stiles texted. 

‘ _Can only stay until 9, I have to get back to Freddie by then._ ’

Derek leaned up against the counter to reply. ‘ _That’s fine. Do you want to eat?_ ’ He winced after he sent it, since that sounded like he wasn’t expecting just dinner and conversation. Usually he was better at this. He was good at being upfront about what he wanted out of things while not being callous or crass.

‘ _I can bring take out,_ ’ Stiles replied, making Derek grin.

He put Cora out of his mind—she didn’t know what she was talking about, they were just two eager, consenting adults entering an eager, consenting, _physical_ relationship—if it could be called that, even. He got up as much loose dog hair as he could, then went to the bedroom and checked that he had everything he needed just in case they continued where they’d left off on Thursday. He checked for any missed laundry in his bedroom, made sure the sheets were clean and tucked in correctly, then went back to the kitchen. He opened the fridge to see what he had to offer Stiles to drink: a can of Cherry Coke, two beers, and three Kool-Aid juice pouches because he was an adult and paid for his own groceries. Unfortunately, none of those sounded very appealing. He should probably just stick with water. 

He rubbed his eyes and closed the back door so he could go shower; Viola was so busy tumbling around the yard that she didn’t even notice. She’d be fine for a few minutes. 

He kept his shower quick and economical, rinsing off as much sweat and sand as he could as quickly as he could, before jumping back out, drying off and getting dressed, and then going to open the back door again.

Viola was rolling around in the grass, legs flailing in the air, tail wagging like she was having the time of her life. 

Derek snorted and turned back to the kitchen. It looked okay; there weren’t muddy paw prints or piles of dog fur everywhere, which he guessed was the most he could ask for. 

Viola gave a loud series of barks and catapulted through the backdoor with a scatter of leaves and grass. 

Derek sighed and rubbed his eyes, then used his shoe to sweep as much of the debris as he could back outside and closed the door. 

Viola’s barks rose in pitch, almost to a howl, and something thumped.

The doorbell rang.

Derek crossed the house and used his knee to bump Viola aside to open the door. He grinned. “Hey.” 

Stiles smiled back. “Hey. I brought Thai, I hope that’s okay.” He must not have changed after work, still wearing his slacks and button up, paired with a loosened tie and neat hair.

“That’s perfect. Come on in.” He stepped back, keeping a hand on Viola’s back to keep her from jumping on Stiles. They were still working on manners when they were excited. 

“I got a bunch, I’m starving, I figured too much is better than not enough.” He followed Derek to the kitchen. “By the way, your garden out front looks _amazing_ , how do you manage to keep it up _and_ work at Everlasting?”

“A lot of days whining about being sore and tired and regretting every decision I’ve ever made.” Derek grabbed some plates from the cabinets while Stiles laughed. 

Viola hovered in the doorway; she knew she wasn’t allowed in the kitchen when people were at the table, but she wanted to greet Stiles, her tail wagging frantically, eyes wide in an attempt to woo him closer to her.

“Want some water?”

“Sure, thanks.” Stiles left the food on the table and went to pet Viola, murmuring to her in a high baby voice.

Derek smiled to himself and started digging the food out. 

Stiles returned to wash his hands a few minutes later, then glanced at his phone, frowning.

“Everything okay?”

He looked up and smiled. “Yeah, just my dad spoiling Freddie.” He shrugged as he moved to the table. “I guess that’s normal.”

Derek nodded, looking only at the cartons of food as he was forcibly reminded of Cora’s anger earlier. “Look,” he started, almost nervous, “I don’t want this to affect Freddie or anything.” He looked up. 

Stiles lifted a brow. “It won’t,” he said lightly. “I mean, it’s just something casual, right?”

Derek nodded emphatically. “Right. Just making out, sex, maybe dinner or lunch.”

“Then it doesn’t have anything to do with Freddie,” he responded. “Let’s eat, I’m starving.”

Derek sat and made his plate. “So how’d your meeting with Miss Tedder go? Anyone lose any skin?”

Stiles laughed. “No, but I think it was a close call. She _really_ likes her tulips in a specific order, huh?” 

Derek snorted. “You don’t have to tell me. Who do you think put her garden together for her?”

Stiles laughed again, longer, and Derek couldn’t help feeling like he was being mocked. “Sucks to be you,” Stiles gasped.

Derek smirked. “No, sucks to be _you_. She has no use for me now that she’s got her garden finished. It’s all you and Cora.”

Stiles hissed between his teeth.

Conversation flowed from work to sports (not much interest from either of them) to movies (Stiles hadn’t seen much but cartoons for the past few years) to TV shows (he’d managed some things after Freddie’s bed time), and Derek was pleased with how easy it was to move from the kitchen to the living room.

Viola was on her bed by the window chewing on a bone, bored now that Stiles had been there for a while.

Derek watched Stiles as he described a SyFy show he’d never seen and thought he couldn’t wait to get him out of those slacks.

Stiles dropped his hands suddenly. “Sorry.” He rubbed his palms on his thighs. “It’s been a while and I just don’t usually…”

“What?” Derek wondered. “Date or hook up?”

“Both?” he offered uneasily.

Derek smiled at him. “Then let’s make it worth it, right?” He looked over Stiles’s face, the way he was biting the inside of his lip and moving his hands over the loose threads on the couch, and realized he was nervous. Derek tilted his head, trying to put him at ease. “We can just stay on the couch for a while, or even the whole time. There’s no rush.” He was even enjoying the anticipation.

Stiles grimaced a little. “I feel like a teenager,” he complained.

Derek nodded, because he understood, and caught Stiles by the back of the neck, reeling him in nice and slow for a kiss, because if he didn’t, they’d just sit there all night.

Stiles made a muffled grunt of surprise, then something thumped softly to the floor—one of the couch pillows, probably. He grabbed Derek by the shoulders and tugged until Derek got the hint and climbed onto his lap. Stiles’s teeth dug into his lip as they adjusted, but he didn’t care.

Derek braced his hands on the back of the couch as his knees sank into the cushions next to Stiles’s hips. 

The kiss was hot and wet, all curling tongues and nipping teeth. Derek tried to control the pace at first, but found himself helplessly dragged along with Stiles’s enthusiasm, and he couldn’t seem to care. 

Stiles’s hands explored his back and shoulders, around his waist and chest, never staying in one spot more than a second. He tugged Derek’s shirt up enough to get his hands under it, hot palms grazing along his ribs and hips.

Derek was panting against his throat when Stiles scraped his nails against his back and asked if he wanted to move to the bedroom. “Yeah,” he gasped. “Yes. Last door on the right.” It took him a second to tear his mouth away from Stiles’s neck and get off him, so they could actually stand.

Derek’s house had three bedrooms and two baths, which was probably excessive for a single person, but he’d had it built with his siblings visiting in mind, or even Peter and Malia.

Stiles barely waited for Derek before he was yanking his own clothes off, impatient and eager. 

Derek forgot himself, mouth watering with the need to just lean in and lick and bite until Stiles was a mess under him.

“Dude, get undressed,” Stiles whined. He sprawled on Derek’s bed and smirked up at him. “Don’t forget, I have a curfew.”

“Okay, Cinderella.” Derek shoved his jeans down and kicked them away, then ripped his shirt over his head. 

Stiles laughed and stretched his back, his eyes going half-lidded as he watched Derek stalk toward him. He looked loose limbed and pliable, taking up most of the bed.

Derek leaned over him for a slow, thorough kiss. He felt one of Stiles’s hands dig up into his hair at the back of his head, the other closing around his bicep, but it barely registered. 

Stiles’s fingertips dug in, and he yanked Derek down on top of him, moaning against his mouth. He hooked a leg over Derek’s hips and rolled up against him, rocking their cocks together.

Derek tried to keep up, but Stiles was like a livewire he couldn’t hold onto suddenly, hot and bright, his mouth moving hard and relentless against Derek’s. 

He worked a hand between them while they kissed, long fingers sliding deftly up the length of Derek’s cock, while he rocked himself against his hip.

“I can get the-”

Stiles’s hand tightened around him, teeth digging into his lip. “Don’t move,” he growled, rolling over so he was sprawled on top of Derek. He moaned quietly against his throat, mouthing against his jaw.

Derek scraped his nails lightly down his back, smirking when he shivered, then reached out for his nightstand.

Stiles grumbled against his chest when he nearly dislodged him, but didn’t fight it when Derek dug around for the lube.

They managed to bring each other off twice before eight thirty. Stiles sprawled across the bed, one leg tossed over Derek’s, a sleepy, sated grin on his face. His hair was sweaty and wild, and he was gently sweeping his foot back and forth across Derek’s ankle, though he thought it was probably unconscious.

Derek was grinning, too. He looked at Stiles and thought, _This is gonna be fun._

Stiles sat up and stretched, then squinted down at him. “Do you mind if I rinse off in your shower before I head out?”

He shook his head.

Stiles leaned over him for a kiss. “Thanks.” He rolled off the bed, picking his way around the room as he gathered his clothes. 

Derek watched sleepily. Once he was in the bathroom, Derek got out of bed and hitched on a pair of sweats, then padded out to the living room.

Viola was on the couch; when she noticed him, she thumped her tail but didn’t budge. 

Derek wondered if he should prod her over at least, so he could join her, but decided it wasn’t worth her falling off or breaking the coffee table. He went to the kitchen for a glass of water. 

Stiles came out while he was putting his cup away. “Thanks,” he said, “your shower is amazing.”

Derek snorted. His eyes felt heavy, like if he let himself, he could just fall asleep. Which was weird. “Sure you have to go?”

Stiles smiled. “Yeah, sorry.” He tugged his shoes on. “But we can definitely do this again, if you want.”

Derek walked him to the door, stopping him on the porch with a hand on his waist.

Stiles grinned and leaned in.

This kiss was soft and easy, slow, less frantic, but just as hot; Derek’s hands clenched in the fabric of Stiles’s shirt as their mouths moved against each other. It was languid and warm and almost gentle, and Derek didn’t want to stop. 

Stiles’s phone went off loudly, making them both jump. “Damn it. Sorry. I have to go, that was my alarm.”

Derek nodded, taking a step back and putting his hands in his pockets. 

“Until next time,” Stiles promised with a grin. “That was nice.”

“Yeah.” Derek watched him leave, letting the breeze cool his heated skin.

Viola nudged the back of his knee and barked. 

He scratched her ears and backed into the house, closing and locking the door. He went to the couch and sprawled onto it.

Viola leaped on top of him, knocking the air from his lungs. 

He stroked her fur as he regained his breath, staring blankly at the TV, which was off. He felt a smirk curve his mouth without knowing why at first, except that he felt good and relaxed. He was betting this thing with Stiles was going to get better, if _this_ was how he felt the first time, when Stiles was nervous and pent up.

Viola huffed and burrowed into the couch cushions.

Derek closed his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _No one noticed Stacy and Jesse were named after songs_ in the last chapter which made me crack up because I'm quite obviously very clever and hilarious. Obviously.


	16. Chapter 16

Stiles felt like a floodgate had opened. It had only been two days since he and Derek had gotten together at Derek’s house, and Stiles was already craving more. Just getting his work done, while Derek was around the manor helping Laura with a photo shoot or the Three with the catering, was a challenge. He hadn’t been this distracted by someone since he was a teenager. He sort of _felt_ like a teenager, revved up and ready to go every time Derek glanced in his direction.

It didn’t help that Derek seemed to realize it, smirking as he went by on his way to help clients.

Stiles tried to put it out of his mind while he made appointments, but he couldn’t stop thinking of Derek panting against his throat, his strong, calloused hands sliding easy and possessive down his back.

“Dad, can I go outside?” Freddie asked loudly, startling him.

He looked down at her hesitantly. He didn’t like her outside alone, but he knew he couldn’t keep her cooped up in the manor forever and expect her to keep still and occupied. “Okay. Stay in the yard, don’t wander into the trees, and if you see someone you don’t know, come get me.”

She was nodding before he finished talking, fingers flexing around her camera. “Okay, okay, I will, can I go?”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

She cheered and took off.

“Don’t run!” he shouted, but she was already out of sight, shooting straight for the kitchen door that led to the porch. He sighed and turned to the calendar open on his computer. 

Peter had several tastings scheduled for the day, which he must’ve been ecstatic about, and there were two consultations scheduled for two, which meant Talia wanted him to take one. He grinned, a flush of pride rising to his face. So his last one hadn’t gone too badly, if she wanted him to do it again.

Stiles gave Greg Deleon and Mark Call a tour of the manor while Talia spoke to the Keller-Andress group. He took them to the garden, which they were interested in, and promised he’d talk to Cora about having the ceremony there.

“We’re only having three guests each,” Greg said with a little private smile directed at his fiancé. “But if it wouldn’t work, we understand.”

Stiles eyed the garden speculatively. There were open spaces, a few walkways. He could see it working. “We should talk to Cora,” he said firmly. “She’s the flower queen,” he added with a grin. “This is her kingdom. Come with me.” He led them through the garden to the door, which he opened without knocking. 

Richard barely looked up from the orchids he was arranging.

Cora’s brows arched, but she managed a professional smile for Greg and Mark.

“Hey, we’ve got a question,” Stiles chirped, ushering them inside. 

Cora set down the daffodil she’d been holding. She looked skeptical. “Alright.”

Derek came in while they were discussing the possibility with Cora, who was understandably wary of having people in the garden. He glanced at Stiles, his gaze intense enough to make him flush all over and bite his lip. Derek smirked and stood back, watching.

“I bet if we used some small fencing, and made sure we were there to direct them, it would work,” Stiles offered, dragging his attention away from Derek. “Only six guests, the grooms, and the officiant—that’s easily manageable, and only for the ceremony.” It took a few more minutes of negotiations, but Cora agreed on the condition that the grooms would sign a contract stating they would pay for damages if they happened. Stiles got it—the garden was Cora’s part of the business, her tools, and if anything happened to them, she wouldn’t be able to provide them for other clients. He was just happy she agreed at all, honestly. He really wanted to help these two have the wedding they wanted. 

Later, while Freddie was coloring behind the desk, Stiles leaned against the wall and texted Derek.

‘ _Want to come by later? After 8:30?_ ’ He held his breath, wondering what he was doing. Inviting someone over _here?_ Though he supposed it was different than inviting someone to his apartment in New York, considering Derek’s family lived here, too, and that Derek had lived here once.

Stiles glanced at Freddie, guilt gnawing at him.

‘ _Don’t you have a curfew, Cinderella?_ ’ he responded.

Stiles snorted. ‘ _Only when I leave. You can come to me and stay til midnight if you wanted._ ’

Derek’s reply was quick. ‘ _Oh, I plan to._ ’

He grinned to himself. ‘ _Good._ ’ He tucked his phone away and looked at Freddie. 

She glanced up at him. “If I do the dishes, can we have ice cream for dinner?”

He laughed. “Sorry, no.”

“What if I sweep, too?”

“Still no. You’ll just get a stomachache,” he explained.

She scowled. “How come everything I like gives me a stomachache?”

“Well, you like broccoli, and that doesn’t usually give you a stomachache. Maybe we’ll have broccoli for dinner.”

She pouted, but didn’t protest—likely trying to come up with a way to have broccoli _and_ ice cream.

Freddie was still wired near bedtime, smearing toothpaste all over her cheeks with her Spiderman toothbrush while Stiles brushed the tangles out of her hair. “Can we go to Grandpa’s house tomorrow?” she mumbled around her brush.

Stiles lifted a brow at her. “Maybe after I’m done with work, we can go visit him.”

She leaned forward to spit. “He has popsicles,” she told him matter-of-factly. 

“Yep.”

She grabbed the hand towel he held out to her and wiped her face clumsily. “I want a pink one.”

“Uh-huh. Well, Grandpa will be at work tomorrow.” He finished brushing her hair and set the brush aside.

She slumped. “How come everyone always has to work?”

He flicked a finger down her nose. “So they can buy popsicles. Come on, into bed.” 

She dragged her feet, but didn’t seem to mind when Stiles ushered her into bed. She snuggled down against her pillow, then batted her eyes up at him. “Will you read to me?” 

“Of course.” He let her tell him which book and grabbed it, smiling to himself when she tugged on his shirt until he stretched out beside her, bracing his back against the headboard. 

By the time Freddie was knocked out, it was 8:57 and Stiles had two texts from Derek. He mouthed curses and crept into the hall to read them. 

‘ _Leaving the house,_ ’ was the first, followed by, ‘ _I’m downstairs whenever you’re ready._ ’

Stiles winced and replied as quickly as he could type. ‘ _Sorry, come on up I’ll explain._ ’ He waited by the stairs, worried that Derek had gotten annoyed and left, and also irritated at himself for being worried about that. 

Derek came into sight a minute later, grinning up at Stiles and creeping up the stairs. 

“Sorry,” Stiles whispered. “Freddie asked me to read to her and I don’t-” He swallowed. “I don’t want to…”

Derek shrugged. “Hey, your kid comes first. No big deal, I already knew that.”

Stiles sighed, relieved. “Right. Thanks,” he added quietly. 

“No problem. Now, I think we should make up for lost time before one of us turns into a pumpkin.” He caught Stiles by the waist and yanked him into a wet, filthy kiss, the kind of kiss Stiles hadn’t participated in for years, like they couldn’t get enough of each other, like they would devour each other if they could. Derek’s hands stayed at his waist, clenched in the old t-shirt he’d thrown on. 

Stiles couldn’t get enough of Derek—his rough, biting kisses, the way he huffed against Stiles’s cheek when he had to take a breath, the weight of his hands on Stiles’s waist, the fucking smell of his soap, heavy like he’d gone home to shower.

Stiles reached up and threaded his fingers through his hair, unsurprised and smug to find it damp enough to confirm his suspicions. He opened his eyes when Derek bit his lip. “Ow.”

Derek smirked. “I was just wondering if you wanted to do this here or your bed.”

“Obviously my bed,” Stiles muttered. He caught Derek’s hand and tugged him down the hall. “It’s kind of, I mean-” There were still a couple of boxes to unpack, a stack of Freddie’s shirts on his dresser, and there was a doll on his bed that Freddie had left that morning. He slipped past Derek to snatch it and put it on her shirts. “Sorry.”

Derek looked around and grinned. “This used to be my room.”

Stiles’s mouth opened. “O-oh.”

Derek shrugged, smirking. “Laura’s was across the hall. We all started in the room across the hall from Mom’s, then got moved up here once the next one was born.” He stalked toward Stiles, his expression going intense and hungry like a switch had been flipped. He caught Stiles by the hips and backed toward the bed. He was kissing him before they made it, his mouth demanding and delicious. 

Stiles never wanted to stop. He gasped, “Take off your clothes, or mine, or _someone’s._ ”

Derek laughed and tugged his shirt over his head.

Stiles made quick work of his own, fumbling with his pants while watching Derek undress. His mouth watered with each inch of revealed skin as if they hadn’t just done this, as if he hadn’t already seen him naked. He practically tackled Derek to the bed, licking and biting his way down his chest. 

After they’d both gotten thoroughly used and sweaty, Stiles collapsed across the bed, breathing hard. His muscles felt warm and limber, a low buzz of pleasure running under his skin like he’d been sipping champagne. 

Derek’s hand was heavy on his thigh, sprawled along the rest of the bed that Stiles hadn’t taken up. He looked satisfied, too, and tired. “Do you always give blowjobs like that, or am I just special?”

Stiles snorted, then laughed, even when Derek dug his fingers into his thigh as punishment. “I told you it’s been awhile, I got a little into it.”

Derek gave him a look. “You got a _little_ into it?”

Stiles rolled over onto him, grinning when his breath whooshed out of him. “Well,” he said casually, “if you didn’t like it, you could’ve just said so. I don’t ever have to do that again.”

Derek glowered at him. “Don’t threaten me, you know I liked it.”

Stiles smirked. “Yeah, I do.” He laughed when Derek leaned in and bit his jaw, growling under his breath. 

It wasn’t very loud, really, the noise; Stiles was just tuned in to odd noises from Freddie’s room. He flinched and sat up, listening, his heart beating hard in his chest. 

It was singing, that same sad, soft voice.

Derek ran his hands down Stiles’s back. “You okay?”

Stiles nodded, distracted. “I just…heard…” He grimaced and moved, rolling toward the edge of the bed and staring at the door. He felt Derek crawl up behind him, leaning close. 

He set a hand lightly on his hip. “Hey, it’s alright. It’s just the Bride.”

“Oh, you mean the _ghost_ that likes to hover in my daughter’s room while she sleeps?” He twisted enough that he could glare at Derek. 

Derek winced, contrite. “Sorry, I guess that’s unnerving for you. It’s just something we’re used to.” He stroked Stiles’s back. “She’s never hurt anyone.” He quirked a smile. “She used to play trucks with me and braided Laura’s hair sometimes.”

“She braided—why? What?” Stiles sputtered. 

Derek shrugged. “Because Mom was bad at it, I guess. She didn’t really talk about _why_ she did things with us.”

Stiles frowned at the door. “She’s never done Freddie’s hair.”

Derek snorted and bit down on the ball of his shoulder lightly. “Probably because you’re good at it.”

Stiles grinned to himself; he was pretty proud of his hair styling capabilities, considering he never had long hair to practice on himself.

Freddie’s pre-k teacher had taught him most of it; he’d asked for help, she’d given up several weekends of her time, and Stiles had practiced. A lot.

The singing trailed off.

Stiles shivered.

“She’s just singing.”

“She’s _dead._ ”

Derek shrugged. “Do you need to go check on Freddie?”

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut. “Yeah. I’ll be right back.”

Derek laid out on the bed, yawning. “That’s fine. I’ll be right here.” He arched his back a little as he stretched, hips rolling and making Stiles hesitate.

He shook his head at himself and got out of bed, scrambling to yank on sweatpants while he berated himself. What kind of terrible parent wanted to stay to have sex with some guy instead of checking on their child after hearing a _literal ghost_ in their room?

Freddie was sound asleep, as expected, when Stiles checked on her, clutching a plush alligator she’d gotten at the New York Aquarium. Her mouth was open, drool shining on her chin, which she usually did when she was congested. No ghost in sight. 

Stiles sighed and made a mental note to keep an eye on her for a runny nose the next day, anticipating a summer cold, before he backed out of the room. 

Derek grinned at him when he returned. “All good?”

“Yeah.” Stiles closed the door. “Sorry.”

He shrugged. “No big deal.” He lifted a brow. “You gonna come over here for one more round before I have to leave, or just stand there?”

Stiles sneered. “Could just stand here.”

Derek nodded, skimming a hand up and down his stomach. “Okay. Fine by me.” He slipped his hand down his thighs, sighing contentedly and licking his bottom lip. “I can take care of this by myself.”

Stiles stood there for a second more, stubborn, but once Derek curled a hand around himself, eyes slitted with pleasure, he gave up. He kicked his sweatpants off and tackled him, mouth latching onto his throat.

Derek’s laughter jolted their hips together deliciously, one arm coming up to hook around Stiles’s waist and tow him even closer. 

Derek snuck out just before dawn, hands dragging over Stiles’s waist like he didn’t want to go. They shared a lingering kiss before he slipped out of the room. Stiles lazed in bed for a moment, sleepy and a little sore and definitely exhausted. He thought Derek had maybe seemed a little reluctant to leave, but chalked it up to him being as tired as Stiles was. 

Stiles yanked his blanket up to his shoulders and closed his eyes. He had a few hours before he had to get up and needed to try to get some sleep if he wanted to keep up with Freddie and work. He pushed his face into his pillow and smiled as he drifted off.

Freddie kept herself busy all morning by helping Peter, who was surprisingly fine with her mixing for him, so Stiles managed to finish most of the scheduling before lunch time, even with a distraught best man stumbling in holding several shredded ties.

Laura passed by just before lunch. “Hey, can you add a First Look appointment for the morning of the sixth for me? If it isn’t on the schedule, I’ll forget to be there.”

“Sure, what time?”

“Let’s say nine to give me a cushion. Thank you,” she added, drumming her fingers on his desk. 

“No problem.” He fixed the schedule, then looked up at her. “What’s a First Look appointment?”

She smiled. “It’s basically where we have the couple show up to the ceremony venue first, get all dressed up, and get pictures of them the first time they see each other, rather than trying to do it _during_ the ceremony and risking someone ruining the shot.”

Stiles sat back in his chair. “Huh. That’s kind of ingenious.”

Laura snorted. “It’s pretty common, actually, but a lot of people don’t consider it when making plans.” Her phone dinged, making her sigh. “Let me know if Freddie needs more pictures printed. See you.”

He waved as she left, then checked the time. He had probably twenty minutes before Freddie came to tell him that she was starving. If he could get their lunches made first, that would definitely stave off some whining. He sent a text to Talia, letting her know he was going to lunch and forwarding calls to her office, then went to the kitchen.

He was filling a container with watermelon slices when Derek texted him.

‘ _Mind if I join you & Freddie for lunch?_’ 

Stiles hesitated, but figured they’d had lunch before sleeping together, so it wouldn’t be weird. Probably. ‘ _Sure. Got any preferences?_ ’

Derek’s reply was instant. ‘ _I brought my own food, just wanted some company. Thanks. See you in 15?_ ’

Stiles packed the sandwiches and snacks he’d made into a canvas bag and looped it over his shoulder, grabbing his travel mug of coffee on his way out. He was going to be wired later, but for now, it was propping his brain awake.

Freddie came barreling out of Peter’s kitchen before Stiles had made it halfway. “Dad, come look! Peter let me make a cake by myself and he said we can have it for lunch!”

“Oh, he did?”

She hesitated. “Well, he said we could have it and to ask you if we could have some with lunch.”

“Uh-huh.”

She grabbed his hand and tugged. “Come on, come look! I want you to see it!”

Stiles let himself be pulled, wondering how Freddie had talked Peter into letting her bake an entire cake while he was working. 

Freddie bounced into the kitchen, calling, “I got him!” as she went.

Peter was at his work station, but he turned around obligingly when Freddie came in. “I put a cover on it so you can unveil it.” He gestured at the counter with only a single item on it, an opaque plastic cake cover over a plate. 

To Stiles’s relief, it didn’t look very big, maybe six inches around. 

Peter flicked a glance at Stiles, a warning or an apology, he couldn’t tell.

Freddie dropped Stiles’s hand and grabbed for the cover, watching Stiles’s face eagerly. 

He smiled and nodded, already arranging his face so it wouldn’t twitch when she revealed it.

She whipped the cover off, uncovering a cake frosted in chocolate, covered in piles of sprinkles and fondant hearts and flowers. The frosting was uneven in places, the cake showing through, but Stiles smiled widely.

“Wow! You made this by yourself?”

She nodded eagerly. “Peter helped pick out the ingredients, but I stirred them all by myself and put on the icing and the flowers!”

“That’s so cool. It looks very yummy. We can have some after we eat our lunch,” he said, unable to resist her proud, beaming face.

She cheered and hugged him, then twisted to hug Peter, who looked badly startled. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! Can we give a piece to everyone?!”

“Maybe after lunch, we’ll take Laura and Cora and Miss Talia a slice, but we have to eat first.”

Freddie nodded eagerly. “Okay!”

Stiles glanced at Peter, and saw he was already boxing up the cake. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He passed Stiles the box, then looked down at Freddie and smiled. “Thank you for your help this morning, Your Majesty.” 

Freddie giggled. “You’re welcome.” She ran to the pantry and grabbed her scrapbook and camera, putting the strap carefully over her neck. “Are we going to eat outside?” she asked, eyeing the bag over Stiles’s shoulder.

“Yep.”

“ _Yes!_ ”

Outside, Freddie helped Stiles get everything out of the bag, hovering around the cake protectively.

Derek strolled over while they were still setting up. “Mind if I join you?” he asked casually.

Freddie nodded, eager. “I made a cake and Dad said we can all have some after lunch, do you want a piece?”

“I would love a piece, thank you.” Derek grinned back at her and sat in the grass beside Stiles. 

“Did you bring Viola today?” 

“No, sorry. I will tomorrow,” he promised.

Stiles nudged Freddie’s sandwich toward her.

She picked it up and took a bite, balancing her scrapbook on her lap. “Can I show you my pictures?” she mumbled around a mouthful of ham and pickles.

Stiles shot her a sharp look.

She swallowed. “Sorry, I’ll finish first.” But she glanced at Derek hopefully.

He set a cooler lunchbox beside his leg and opened it for his own lunch.

“You can show him after you eat.” Stiles watched, curious and maybe a little nosy as Derek unpacked his own lunch.

He had what looked like a huge sub, a bag of chips, a container of apple slices, and a package of baby carrots. He noticed Stiles watching and smirked.

Stiles looked away quickly. He didn’t care what Derek had for lunch, he’d just wanted to see why he brought his own instead of letting Stiles make it like last time. 

“Next time, I’m gonna make _brownies,_ ” Freddie announced. “Peter said he could show me.”

“Did he?” Derek looked surprised.

Freddie nodded eagerly. “He’s going to show me how to make cookies, too!”

“Wow, that’s impressive.”

Freddie beamed.

Stiles was hyperaware of Derek while they ate: how close he was sitting, if their legs were going to brush or elbows bump, if he was looking at him too much or maybe _not_ looking at him too much, making it obvious that he was trying not to. Then he quietly berated himself for putting so much thought into it; Freddie likely wouldn’t notice anything if Stiles would just relax.

Like Derek, who looked as he usually did, relaxed, a little hesitant with Freddie, and attractive all stretched out in the sun-soaked yard that made him look cast in gold.

Freddie finished her lunch at her usual speed, only slowing down a little to savor the watermelon. She had crumbs on her shirt and juice on her cheeks and chin that would leave her sticky by the time she finished. She grabbed her scrapbook and opened it under Derek’s nose, bouncing in place. “See? I want to take more pictures, so I can have pictures like Laura’s one day.”

“They’re very close,” Derek said magnanimously. “You just need to remember to practice. Laura had to practice a lot.” 

Freddie grinned and set the book beside Derek’s leg. “You can keep looking,” she said graciously, scrambling to her feet. She snatched up the camera from where she’d left it and turned it on them. 

Stiles smiled reflexively as she snapped the photo; his gaze jumped to Derek, nervous, after she’d turned her attention to the woods.

He looked unbothered.

_Because there’s nothing to worry about,_ Stiles reminded himself. His phone started ringing, and a glance at the screen had him frowning. The number was local and vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t figure out why. “I have to answer this, uh…” He looked at Freddie.

“I can keep an eye on her.”

Stiles thanked Derek in a rush and got up, answering the call as he walked toward the porch. “Hello, this is Stiles Stilinski.”

“ _Hi!_ ” an unfamiliar voice chirped. “ _This is Jocelyn Meyer from Camp Dragonfly! I got your number from our wait list. We’ve had a spot open up and were wondering if Winifred Stilinski was still interested in joining us?_ ”

Stiles’s jaw dropped. “Yes,” he said quickly, thrilled. “Yes, she is.”

“ _Great! Let’s get some details worked out._ ”

Camp Dragonfly was Stiles’s second pick for Freddie earlier in the month, because it was a little more expensive than his first pick, but they certainly had more activities planned, so he wasn’t complaining.

Once everything was worked out (everything that could be done over the phone, anyway), Stiles went back to the yard. His heart bumped painfully when he didn’t see Freddie, but then he noticed her and Derek by the tree line of the preserve. 

Freddie was standing on a boulder while Derek spotted her, hands out in case she fell. She was taking a picture of some lower branches on the tree, what looked like a bird’s nest. 

Stiles waited until she’d climbed safely down to approach. 

She met him halfway, words bubbling out so fast he almost couldn’t understand her. “—bird flew past and Derek showed me her nest and we took _five_ pictures of it.”

“That’s great!” Stiles knelt so they were eye to eye. He felt Derek staring, but he needed to focus on Freddie for the moment. “I got a phone call from Camp Dragonfly. They said you can start on Friday.” He knew she was excited about camp, but he _also_ knew how Stilinskis responded to sudden changes in routine.

Thankfully, she was very bored with spending all day at the manor, because she lit up. “Really?!” Her head swiveled around like she was searching for someone to confirm. “I can go get my stuff ready now! Can I take my camera? And my scrapbook?”

Stiles smiled, relieved. “Probably your camera, but we’ll have to make sure. It isn’t an overnight camp,” he reminded her. They’d already talked about this, but he wanted to make sure she remembered. “It’s just during the day.”

She nodded. “I know, you told me before. Can I take some books, too?”

“Um, maybe just one. I’ll help you pack later, after I’m done with work.”

“I have to go pick out a book! Bye, Derek!” She waved and bolted, then paused by their picnic, dancing in place. “Dad, can I bring a toy, too?”

Stiles winced. “Why don’t you pick out some stuff and we’ll go through it together tonight?”

“Okay!” She ran for the house.

Stiles sighed. “Well, that’ll be fun.”

Derek grinned. “I better get back to work. I have to build a special altar for a Pagan wedding later.”

Stiles blinked. “That’s…cool.”

Derek nodded and started walking back to the manor; Stiles fell in step with him. Derek tilted his head back. “Want me to come by later?”

_Yes,_ Stiles thought, eyes roving over the line of his jaw, the half-smile curving his lips. He wanted Derek to sneak in after everyone had gone to bed, help Stiles out of his clothes and— “No,” he said carefully. “Sorry. I’ll be busy with Freddie tonight.” 

Derek smiled and shrugged. “No problem. Maybe next time.”

They cleaned up the picnic together, then headed toward the manor. Stiles was surprised when Derek asked about Camp Dragonfly. “Oh, it’s pretty cool. Most of the camps focus on one thing, but they do a rotation of activities—sports, plays, sciences, arts, math games, which is cool, because Freddie gets bored easily.”

“Did she do that in New York?”

Stiles nodded, pausing outside the door to the kitchen. “Yeah, it gave her something to do in the summer while I worked and she wasn’t in school.” 

Derek nodded, too, and he looked curious for a moment.

Stiles caught his breath, nervous, and wondered if Derek was finally going to ask about Freddie’s mother.

“Probably better than wandering the preserve while your older sister was supposed to be watching you,” he said lightly instead.

Stiles snorted. “So, Laura wasn’t a great babysitter.”

“No, she wasn’t. Once, after she got her license, she forgot Cora and me at a gas station. Mom took her keys away for two months.”

Stiles laughed, and he was still laughing when his phone rang. He sighed and answered, stepping aside to let Derek go in the house ahead of him. 

“ _Hey, Stiles, we need a hand, could you-?_ ” Isaac hedged. 

“ _We’ve got it,_ ” Boyd snapped. 

“ _We need a hand,_ ” Isaac pressed. “ _We’ve got a ton of stuff to prep and our sous called out with the flu!_ ”

“On my way.”

“ _Thanks._ ”

Stiles waved at Derek. “Thanks for hanging out with us.” He rushed past, because if he lingered, he was going to do something stupid, like grab Derek by the shirt and kiss him in the kitchen.

He didn’t see Derek again for the rest of the day; he was too busy helping the Three prepare for a wedding with three hundred guests and answering the phone, training himself not to react every time Isaac shouted a long stream of curse words, and Erica’s explosion of fury after a waiter called to quit.

It was just as well, he knew. He had other stuff to do; he could meet up with Derek later.

He helped Freddie pack for day camp that night before bed. She was still glowing with excitement over it, and couldn’t seem to make up her mind about what she wanted to bring or what was more important.

“You’ll have a lot of activities to do, so you won’t have time to play with any toys you bring.” Stiles gently set her pile of dinosaurs aside.

She nodded. “Okay, but can I still bring a book? What if something is boring?”

“Sure.” He grabbed her swimsuit and folded it beside her backpack, where he’d already set her beach towel and container of sunscreen. He would put a change of clothes in there, too, just in case, along with her lunch.

“How long will I be there?” she asked, dropping all of her weight on his back.

He smiled. “All day. You’ll eat breakfast and lunch there, then I’ll pick you up and we’ll eat dinner.” 

She cheered and peeled herself up to race around the room. She halted in front of her bookshelf and grabbed “Fairies Are Real!”, beaming. “Can I take this one?”

Stiles nodded and put it in the bag for her. It took another half hour for her to calm down enough to go to bed, but it was worth it to see her so happy and excited.


	17. Chapter 17

Derek had several flowering bushes to plant, now that they’d finally been delivered, but he kept getting distracted. He spent six minutes scowling at a rhododendron bush before he got back to putting it in its new home. He’d felt weird and off-balance all morning, but he couldn’t figure out why. He scooped soil gently around the bush’s roots, ignoring the hopeful bee buzzing around his forehead. His phone chimed with a reminder for his calendar and he scowled, heart lurching in panic, as he realized why he felt so strange. 

It was Friday, and Stiles had been gone all morning, getting Freddie registered for day camp.

He told himself it wasn’t a big deal; he was just used to Stiles being around, chirping a good morning or updating his schedule and telling him about it as if he wasn’t capable of checking it himself. That was normal. He was just…used to him being there. He also noticed when one of the others wasn’t around, too. He just needed to focus on his work.

He was implanting his eighth rhododendron, frustrated, sweaty, and covered in dirt, when Stiles returned. He straightened up, narrowed eyes tracking his car as it rolled to a stop in Stiles’s usual spot. He was standing near his work shed, so he couldn’t see Stiles get out, but it didn’t matter a minute later, when Stiles came striding toward him. He held his ground, irritated that he wanted to meet him in the middle and kiss him in the yard. 

“Hey,” Stiles said with a grin. “I updated your-”

When he was close enough, Derek caught his wrist and yanked him in for a rough kiss. “I want you,” he growled against his mouth.

Stiles took a shuddering breath. “Good.” He went along happily when Derek pulled him toward the shed, stumbling as he whipped the door open.

Derek let him go just long enough to latch the door and kick a chunk of scrap wood out of his way.

Stiles backed up against the work bench, checking for tools before leaning against it. He licked his lips. “Do you-”

Derek didn’t let him finish. He pressed in close and kissed him, sinking against him so their bodies were lined up from thigh to chest. The taste of sweat from his own mouth and the lingering sweetness from whatever Stiles had eaten mingled between their tongues. He dropped his hands to Stiles’s hips, clenching hard and holding him still so he could rock forward against him. Stiles was hot under his hands, squirming and gasping. Derek bit his mouth, then got down on his knees, pressing his thumbs under the edge of Stiles’s slacks. He took a second, just breathing the scents of sawdust and sweat and fresh dirt, before he undid Stiles’s belt.

Stiles ran his fingers through Derek’s hair, nails scraping gently along his scalp. He let his palm rest against the back of Derek’s neck, thumb resting against the hinge of his jaw. 

Derek reminded himself that Stiles would have to walk through the manor to get new pants if he ripped the button and zipper, then carefully opened both. He yanked the pants down to Stiles’s thighs, pausing to smirk at his Star Wars boxers, before yanking those down, too.

It was hot in the work shed, and dim, the shitty lighting making everything but Stiles shadowy and indistinct. He was breathing hard, a bead of sweat tracking down the cut of his hip.

Derek flicked his tongue over it, grinning when Stiles jumped. He set his hands on Stiles’s thighs, sliding his palms up and down, just feeling his muscles quiver.

“Derek,” Stiles groaned, making him laugh.

He pressed his teeth against the inside of his left thigh, nipped sharply, then nudged his legs apart. He curled his hand around the base of his dick and guided him toward his mouth, groaning as he closed his lips around him.

Stiles gasped, hands scrabbling at Derek’s shoulders and hair before flying back to grip the edge of the work table. 

Derek wanted to make him come so hard he couldn’t stand. He set a steady pace, moving his lips and hand in time, flicking his tongue and gingerly scraping his teeth.

“Derek,” Stiles panted urgently, like a warning.

He gripped his leg harder and went down one last time.

Stiles let out a strangled oath before shuddering and coming.

Derek, admittedly a little out of practice, choked just a little, but he managed. 

“Oh my god,” Stiles said faintly, and flopped to the floor, half in Derek’s lap.

Derek laughed against the humid side of his throat. The shed was stifling and Stiles was giving off heat like a furnace, but he didn’t care. 

“Okay, okay, let me.” Stiles tried to get a hand between them, but then his phone started ringing. He swore.

Derek moved back. “Go ahead.” He was fine, anyway. The impatient desire boiling under his skin had settled the minute he’d gotten his hands on Stiles, so he was calmer. 

Stiles fumbled his phone out of his pocket, his pants still slumped awkwardly around his knees. He answered, “Talia!” with a squeak to his voice.

Derek covered his face. 

“Uh-huh. Okay, I’m—I’ll be right there. Yep,” he said, overly bright, “I just got back. Okay, see you in a minute.” He hung up and dropped the phone like it’d scalded him. “Oh my god.”

Derek laughed.

Stiles squinted at him. “Sorry, I have to go. Uh…I’ll get you later?” He gestured vaguely at Derek’s crotch.

He snorted. “Yeah, don’t worry about it. I’m perfectly capable of handling it myself if I wanted to get off right now,” he added when Stiles looked skeptical.

“Yeah, yeah, alright.” He stood and fixed his pants, pulled a hand through his sweaty hair, then bent over to give Derek a slow kiss, his mouth hot like a brand. “Later,” he promised, and slipped out of the shed. 

Derek sprawled out on the floor to catch his breath and will his erection away before he left. He also probably needed to get ahold of himself. Stiles was gone for, what, four hours in the morning and he acts like a clingy teenager in his first relationship? _Grow up,_ he told himself, and sighed deeply. Clingy or not, that was pretty hot. Maybe he’d drag Stiles out to the preserve one night, take him apart under the trees. 

He went into the manor a few minutes later, for water and to steal some of Cora’s mouthwash. 

Talia was by Stiles’s desk, speaking to the bride from the Big One—Lydia Martin. Talia had a pinched look around her eyes, but Miss Martin had gift baskets on the floor beside her, so it couldn’t be too bad. 

Stiles came out of Peter’s kitchen when Derek was only halfway there, and froze like he’d seen a ghost. He said, “Lydia?” all soft and shocked.

Derek’s gaze snapped back to her, taking in her pale skin and red hair, and couldn’t help but wonder, in that moment, if this woman was Freddie’s mother.

Talia looked concerned, her polite smile going rigid as her gaze darted between the two of them.

Lydia let out a high pitched, unmistakably _happy_ noise, and then she and Stiles were hugging and grinning so wide their cheeks ought to have split. “I didn’t know you were in town!”

“I thought you’d moved away, or I would have told you! What are you doing here?”

Lydia waved a hand. “I’m here for an appointment with Laura Hale, but I came early…” She turned to Talia, one arm still around Stiles’s waist. “I came early to apologize for my mother and to give everyone these gift baskets as a thank-you for putting up with her. I promise to keep her _far_ away until the ceremony.” 

Talia smiled. “That’s probably not necessary. Thank you,” she added. “Laura’s free now, if you want to go in early, or perhaps Derek can help you if you wanted to take these to everyone?”

Lydia glanced over at Derek, then Stiles. 

Stiles grinned. “I can help you while you deliver them,” he chirped. “That way we can catch up while we go.”

She smiled beatifically. “Perfect.” She and Stiles picked up the gift baskets and headed down the hall, heads tipped toward each other. 

Derek glowered after them.

“What’s wrong?” Talia asked cautiously.

He shook his head. “Nothing,” he muttered. “I have bushes to plant, I just needed water.” He stalked to the family kitchen.

When Stiles asked Derek if he wanted to come over at nine, after Freddie had gone to bed, he was glad, because he’d been about to ask himself, which would’ve been…after earlier, it would’ve been a little much, he thought.

But as soon as he walked in the manor, all Derek could think about was Stiles with his arms around Lydia, the bright smile on his face, their heads bent together as they walked side by side. Derek had never dealt with jealousy very well.

He fucked Stiles hard, face-to-face, biting and clawing and trying to make him forget anyone but Derek until they were both sweaty and unintelligible, gasping gibberish at each other until they both tumbled over the edge, then collapsed on each other. 

Derek buried his face in the side of Stiles’s neck, eyes squeezed shut. He _hated_ being jealous, especially over nothing. 

Lydia was getting married and they were obviously friends. He was being a fucking moron. 

Stiles sighed contentedly. “I think my brain fell out,” he said lazily. “Pass it back if you see it.” He didn’t seem to mind that Derek was crushing him into the bed. He brought a hand up and scratched gently along Derek’s scalp.

He went boneless, every annoying, infuriating thought flying out of his head.

Stiles must have noticed, because he laughed and did it again. He shifted a little, moving enough that Derek’s thigh slid between his legs, settling them together more firmly. It was kind of gross—they were sticky from sweat and everything else—but Derek didn’t care. Stiles shifted his shoulders around and yawned. 

Derek propped himself up a little, so he could look at his face. 

He looked pleased and tired, blinking sleepily and smiling when he met Derek’s gaze. “You know, I haven’t done that since college,” he mumbled.

“Why not?”

He shrugged. “Busy.” His eyes closed. “After I had Freddie, it was just,” he yawned, “easier to do, y’know, quick stuff, if anything at all. Babysitters ain’t cheap. No time for prep or actually wanting someone to anyway.” He opened his eyes partially to smile. “Thanks.”

Derek smiled back and kissed the tip of his nose impulsively. “Don’t get used to it. My turn next.”

Stiles’s eyes opened all the way; he arched a brow. “Really?”

Derek bit his chin in punishment. “Don’t stereotype.”

Stiles slid his hands down Derek’s back to squeeze his ass. “I would never.”

He laughed quietly and dropped his forehead against Stiles’s collarbone, eyes slipping closed. 

After a few minutes, Stiles started squirming; not the content stretching from earlier but uncomfortable twitching and jerking.

“You okay?”

He sighed heavily. “Yes, I’m just thirsty,” he muttered. He nudged his knee against Derek’s hip. “Better let me up. You want a cup?”

“Uh-huh, please.”

Stiles brushed a kiss over the top of his cheek, surprising him, before he rolled off of him. He went to the bathroom and returned a few minutes later in sweatpants, carrying a wet rag. 

It landed with a wet slap on Derek’s thigh. He glared, but Stiles just grinned and went into the hall, so after a second, he wiped himself up. He sat up and rubbed his face. 

Freddie’s voice made him jump, sudden and shaking with tears, calling out for Stiles. 

Stiles must not have made it far—Derek heard his bare feet slapping the wood floor in the hall. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“I had a bad dream,” Freddie hiccupped. “Two zombies ate my eyes.”

Derek scrambled to get his clothes on, listening with half an ear as Stiles soothed her. He glanced at the bed, then toward the hall, where Freddie was shakily asking if she could sleep in Stiles’s bed. He whipped the sheet off as Stiles’s voice went high with panic, tossing the soiled sheet to the hamper by the door; he didn’t have time to put a new one on. He swiped his phone off the dresser, stuck it into his pocket, and chanced a peek into the hallway. 

Freddie was clinging to Stiles in the doorway of her bedroom, face pressed into Stiles’s neck. 

Derek slipped past quickly and quietly, avoiding the creaky steps like he used to in high school, though it usually didn’t work on Talia. He left the house on tiptoe, creeping across the porch and down the steps. He paused in the driveway, tilting his head back to look at Stiles’s bedroom window; the light was on, but the shades were drawn, just a sliver of gold light cutting across the gloom of the night. He imagined that Stiles was noticing the sheets and understanding what happened even while he soothed and comforted Freddie from her nightmare. He rubbed his eyes and got in his truck, wincing as the hinge of the door squealed. He glanced over his shoulder, sure Cora or their mother was about to pop through the door and demand to know what he was doing here at this hour.

He let out a breath when nothing happened and decided he was way too old to be afraid of getting caught sneaking around by his mom. This was stupid. He drove with half his mind back in Stiles’s bedroom, imagining how their night would have gone had Freddie not had a nightmare, and got home to find Viola tangled up in her tug rope, which he’d put out of her reach before he’d left. 

He sighed and dropped to his knees in front of her. Most of the rope was twisted around her paws, caught in her ears and teeth. “What did you do?” he muttered. 

She wagged her tail and bumped her nose against his cheek. 

A text came in while he was untangling his grateful puppy, from Stiles. ‘ _Thank u!! gnight!’_

Derek tossed his phone on the coffee table and yanked the last piece of rope out of Viola’s paws. 

She whined and climbed into his lap, licking all over his face.

He let her. “Okay, so that’s tug ropes, squeaky toys, and Frisbees that you aren’t allowed to have when I’m not here.” He scrubbed at her ears. “What am I going to do with you?” He squeezed his eyes shut. What was he going to do with _himself?_ He was so screwed. He pet Viola’s back, scratching at that spot between the knobs of her spine that she liked. “I have made a huge fucking mistake,” he whispered, and kissed her muzzle. Maybe he would just take a day off, hang with Viola, and avoid everyone.


	18. Chapter 18

“Thanks again, Dad, really,” Stiles said, hovering by the door. “I appreciate it. I don’t-” He paused to inhale, trying to calm his nerves. “You know I didn’t do this in New York, I rarely-”

John caught Stiles by the shoulders, giving him a gentle squeeze. “I don’t mind, I like getting to see my granddaughter. And you think I don’t _know_ that all you did in New York was work and take care of that little girl? It doesn’t make you a bad parent to have a social life.”

Stiles couldn’t help looking down. “You didn’t have one,” he muttered sullenly.

John laughed, startled. “Okay, thanks for that, for one. And for two, yes I did.” He shrugged. “You were a little older, but what do you think I did with my spare time once you started hanging out with Scott? Sat and waited for you to come home?”

“But that’s my point! I was older than she is. See, I shouldn’t-”

“If you don’t get out of this house, I will drag you out, son.” He lifted his brows. 

Stiles went. He repeated John’s speech about having a social life all the way to the restaurant where he was supposed to meet Derek. It didn’t help that he was anxious about that, too—Derek had invited him to dinner rather than directly to his house, and he wasn’t sure what to make of that sudden change. 

Derek was already at Ruby’s Diner when Stiles arrived, leaning casually against his truck while he waited. He smiled when he noticed Stiles. He seemed relaxed. 

He’d probably just been hungry and hadn’t wanted takeout. Stiles met him at the door, relieved. “Hey.”

“Hey. I’m starving, let’s get some seats.”

Stiles eyed him as they were being seated; he was wearing jeans with no holes or stains, and a clean black t-shirt, which meant he’d changed after work. He shrugged, making himself relax and sit down. He was having fun with Derek, guilt notwithstanding, and didn’t really mind eating out.

“Hi, I’m Lissa, I’ll be your server tonight! Can I get you started with some drinks?” She was primarily focused on Derek, her gaze sweeping over his shoulders, neck, and jaw appreciatively. 

“Yeah, just water, thanks,” Derek said dismissively.

Stiles smiled sympathetically and ordered a soda. “No way am I missing the chance to have pop without the kid around demanding some, too,” he said once she walked away. 

Derek snorted. “ _Pop,_ ” he scoffed. 

Stiles flushed; he’d been away too long, he guessed. “Shut up,” he muttered. 

Lissa returned with their drinks and took their orders, trying valiantly to flirt with Derek, who was too busy telling Stiles about the most insane wedding they’d had to take notice. 

“The bride,” he said, with feeling, “was the worst. Not the creepy uncles trying to feel us up or the loud, racist grandfather, no. The bride managed to start a fifty person _fist fight_ halfway through her own reception.”

Stiles laughed. “Oh my god, _how_?”

He shook his head. “I still don’t even know _why._ They—oh, thanks,” he said lightly when Lissa returned with their food. 

“Enjoy your meal,” she said brightly, before walking away.

“What else happened?” Stiles prompted. 

Derek grinned. “They knocked over the cake.”

Stiles dropped his fork. “Oh my _god._ ” His tone was more horrified than amused that time. “Did anyone make it out _alive?_ ” 

“Barely,” Derek said gleefully. “Mom had to drag Peter outside before he stabbed somebody. Meanwhile, the bride shoved a fistful of the ruined cake into one of the groomsmen’s pants, and the maid of honor was fighting the best man.”

Stiles couldn’t stop laughing. “That’s the most awful thing I’ve ever heard,” he gasped, trying to compose himself. 

“Yeah, you sound pretty broken up about it,” Derek scoffed. His eyes were gleaming, face flushed from his own amusement.

Stiles grinned. “Hurry up and eat. I owe you.”

“You do not,” he said, but he also started eating, so Stiles figured it was just for form’s sake.

Stiles followed Derek back to his house, that way he’d have his car for later. 

Viola was barking when Derek let them in, but she didn’t come barreling toward them like he expected. 

“She’s in her kennel,” he explained wearily. “I’ve started having Josh put her in there after her walks. She got tangled in a rope and I’m worried about her hurting herself.”

Stiles nodded. “So, she’s okay right now, right?”

Derek nodded, looking puzzled. “Yeah, he just finished walking her a half hour ago.” 

“Oh, good.” Stiles tackled Derek to the couch, laughing breathlessly as they kissed. He fumbled with Derek’s jeans while they made out, rubbing at the front of his boxers until he was twitching and shifting his hips, rolling up against Stiles’s hand, seeking friction. He licked along Derek’s bottom lip and slid down, letting their bodies rub against each other as he went. “I told you, I owe you one.” He pulled Derek’s jeans down as much as he could, but only bothered pulling his boxers down enough to bare him. He stroked him with his hand for a minute, breathing wetly across his skin. His knees were already starting to hurt from pressing into the floor like this, but he liked the weight of Derek in his palm, his soft, hot skin, and the way he was glaring because Stiles was taking his time. He grinned and kissed the side of his knee, then braced his hands on his thighs.

Derek came faster than Stiles was expecting, either too worked up or frustrated to hold out for long. He didn’t bask, either, instead yanking Stiles up onto the couch with him and putting his hand down his pants.

Stiles jumped at the suddenness, then shuddered, pressing kisses all over Derek’s face and neck; when Derek squeezed and tugged just right, wrist twisting, he accidentally bit the curve of his cheekbone as he came. “Oh, god, sorry,” he panted.

Derek was too busy laughing to accept his apology, so he bit his neck on purpose, but that only made him laugh harder. 

Stiles grumbled and burrowed closer to him, just breathing and enjoying the tingly-tired aftereffects of his orgasm.

Derek nudged him. “Let me go get a towel.”

He groaned and rolled just enough to let him up, then sprawled on his back over the whole couch. It didn’t matter what kind of towel Derek brought back, Stiles wasn’t going to be clean until he showered and double washed his pants and underwear. He closed his eyes and nearly dozed off. 

Something snuffled near his ear, then a cold, wet nose bumped along his face. 

He opened one eye. “You are not a towel.”

Viola licked his cheek, her tail slashing through the air.

Derek returned and climbed onto the couch to kneel between Stiles’s spread legs. “You’re a mess,” he reported, carefully working his pants down enough to start cleaning him.

“And you’re,” Stiles squinted at him, “ugh, too cute to insult.” He flopped an arm over his eyes, but smiled when he felt Derek wiping him down.

Viola sniffed curiously near his hip, making his eyes fly open. She licked tentatively at his hip.

“Whoa, hey, nope, above the waist for you, miss.” He tugged gently at her collar and scratched her ears to discourage any wandering.

Derek snickered, so Stiles kneed him in the ribs.

“It’s not funny!”

Derek laughed harder. 

Viola got tired of being ignored and bounced away, toward the kitchen. The sound of her lapping at her water bowl filled the house.

“You’re horrible.” Stiles squirmed and did up his pants. 

Derek grinned and stretched out on top of him gradually, putting careful thought into how he lined them up.

Stiles liked it, and his weight, the way their hips fit together and their legs tangled. He spent a few minutes brushing his fingers idly through Derek’s hair and wondered if it was normal to do so.

_CRASH!_

Stiles jumped; in the kitchen, Viola yelped, and something clattered. 

Derek swore and jumped up to rescue her.

Stiles smiled, turning his head against the couch. 

Derek returned a second later, leaning on the kitchen doorframe. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “She broke a chair.” 

Stiles’s laugh barked out of him. “How?”

“I think she may have been trying to get onto it, to look at the table? I’m not sure.”

Stiles snickered, then yawned and stretched, arching his back off of the couch. “Ugh, I should go before I fall asleep.”

“Would that be so terrible?” Derek wasn’t looking at him as he asked.

Stiles tensed and tried to keep it off his face. “Well, I have to go home. My dad is watching Freddie,” he said lightly while he scrabbled frantically to figure out what was going on. He didn’t know how to _do_ this, he rarely had second dates or even second hook ups back in New York. He’d had too much to do, and deep down, he’d felt he wasn’t being fair to Freddie, felt like he owed her every minute of his time. He didn’t know how to _be_ in a relationship, if he even wanted to, or if that’s what Derek was hinting at.

Derek murmured, “Maybe next time,” and Stiles didn’t know how to answer that, so he didn’t.

Freddie was sleeping when he got home, so he spent a few minutes talking to John, painfully aware of what he’d been doing and how ineffective a wet rag was for the…activities. Thankfully, John either didn’t notice or elected not to mention it, because he only told him what he and Freddie had done for the few hours he’d been gone. 

“Thanks again, really.” Stiles hugged him hard. 

John patted his back and squeezed him tight, like he always did. “No problem at all. I love spending time with her. I missed you both, you know. Skype and bi-yearly visits weren’t enough.”

Stiles nodded against his shoulder, lingering for a moment. 

After John left, Stiles went to check on Freddie; she was sprawled on her stomach, one foot sticking out from under the blanket. He tucked it back in and kissed her forehead, then tiptoed across the hall to his bedroom. The door was closed, which was strange, because he hadn’t shut it. He shrugged, thinking John had done it, and reached for the knob. 

It was ice cold, almost painful, to the touch, and, most importantly, it wouldn’t turn.

He scowled and twisted the other direction. Surely Freddie hadn’t locked the door somehow? Did it even have a lock? He couldn’t remember. 

He felt a chill on the back of his neck, like someone was watching him, and turned. He jumped and swore.

The Hale Bride glared at him; for once, her expression didn’t seem sad, but angry, almost judgmental. 

“Is that you?” He gestured at the door. “Why?”

Her glare darkened, and the air around them became frigid.

Stiles could see his breath. “Look,” he said through his teeth, “I don’t know what you’re mad about, but you need to stop.” His gaze darted to Freddie’s room. “Do you do this to her? Because I swear, I-”

_I would never hurt a child!_ Her expression went soft and lost suddenly, sad like it normally was. She faded, the door behind Stiles opening with a _snick._

He kept staring into the hallway. He didn’t realize he was shaking until he dropped his keys. _What the hell?_ He picked up his keys and slowly shuffled into his room to grab clean pajamas. He was going to find out more about her; he had to, especially if…if she might hurt Freddie. Everyone insisted that she wouldn’t, but no one had mentioned her locking them out of their rooms before, either. He’d ask the Hales—all of them—as soon as possible.

Locking him out of his room, glaring at him, was pretty small, as far as hauntings went, but if she was doing stuff like that to Freddie, he’d move out in an instant. _And_ find a way to exorcise her ass.


	19. Chapter 19

Stiles gently pried the next morning on the way to Camp Dragonfly, but Freddie just shrugged and said the lady liked to play dress up and sing, no she’d never been mean, and then asked if they could get chicken nuggets for breakfast. 

She was more interested in talking about Cathleen and Ben, the two friends she’d made at camp. “I have other friends,” she said with a grin, “but they’re my _best_ friends. Ben can read books this big.” She demonstrated with her fingers, probably a regular chapter book a fifth grader might read. “And Cathleen can do all kinds of math, she showed me, and she’s _really_ good at climbing. Ben got stuck in a tree and she helped him down.”

Stiles smiled. He was happy she had made friends already, though he shouldn’t have been surprised; she was better at finding friends than he’d been at that age, vocal and confident enough to round up a little army of somewhat more timid kids and get them excited for whatever game she’d cooked up. Far from worrying about a lack of friends, he should’ve been keeping an eye out for impending dictatorship. She was certainly charming enough.

The camp was busy with parents when they arrived, making Stiles wince; he’d been hoping to arrive early enough to miss the parent parade.

“ _Cathleen!_ ” Freddie bellowed as soon as she was out of her booster seat. She snagged her backpack and bolted. 

Stiles watched her go and sighed. He supposed he ought to get used to it; she was six years from teenage-hood and would soon want to hang out with her friends more often. Not a bad thing, he reflected, just a new thing. It was good. She wasn’t lonely or isolated. 

He had to sign her in, unfortunately, so he had to wade through the other parents, squeezing through to the check-in table. 

“Hey, Mr. Stilinski,” the bored teenager running the table sighed. “Be careful, Mrs. Smythe-Waite was talking about you and your slacks earlier.”

Stiles flushed as he signed Freddie in. “Thanks. I’ll bring you a coffee tomorrow.”

She offered him a small, tentative smile, then flicked her gaze over his shoulder. 

Stiles stepped aside and backed up, hoping to slip away to say bye to Freddie before one of the parents could stop him. He made it about four feet from the table before one of the moms caught him.

She wasn’t anyone he recognized, and she had three other mothers that he didn’t know flanking her. 

Considering Stiles mostly rushed off back to work, he’d managed to avoid talking to most of them. He had no way out that he could see now.

“Hello, you’re Winifred’s dad, aren’t you?” she chirped, and didn’t wait for him to reply. “It’s _so_ amazing that you bring her in every morning.”

Stiles scowled. “Well, she’s my daughter,” he said flatly. “I’m the one who drives her everywhere.”

“How old is Winifred?” one of the others asked. “My Beth is nine.”

“Freddie is seven.”

Beth’s mother wrinkled her nose slightly.

Their leader smiled. “Wouldn’t she prefer to go by her full name? Or something like Winnie, perhaps?”

“No.”

She examined him. “Does your wife work?”

“You look _young_ to have a seven-year-old,” another of them blurted. 

Stiles looked at the first one. “I’m not married,” he said lightly, then looked at the other, “Good genetics.” He made himself smile wide. “Thanks _so much_ for your interest, but I have to say bye to _Freddie_ and get back to work.” He stalked away. 

Freddie met him halfway, holding hands with a girl with short dark hair and glasses and a boy with gold-red curls. “This is Cathleen, and this is Ben,” she said excitedly, tugging on their hands to indicate who was who. “This is my dad.”

Cathleen squinted up at him skeptically. “Hi,” she said slowly. 

Ben just smiled and looked down at his feet. 

“Hi, guys. I hope you have fun today.”

Cathleen nodded seriously. “Today is programming day.”

“That’s very cool.” Stiles looked at Freddie. “I just wanted to come say bye before I left, gremlin.”

She let go of their hands so she could hug him. “Bye,” she sang, still squeezing him around the middle. 

Stiles hugged her, too. “Love you.”

She turned her face up to smile at him. “I love you, too.” She let go. “Now we have to go find Thomas and Jenny before breakfast time.” She waved at Stiles and held her hands out at her friends before they left. 

He smiled after them.

“They’re sweet.”

Stiles twitched and glanced at the woman beside him. “Yeah…” he said slowly. 

She smiled awkwardly. “Sorry, I’m Sam Miller, Ben’s mother. He’s so happy now that Freddie is here; he has trouble making friends, so it was kind of a good surprise when Freddie, um…” 

Stiles laughed as she searched for a word. “We call it a Cheerful Takeover,” he said, making her laugh, too.

“I can understand why. I appreciate it,” she said softly. “He’s having a lot of fun.”

“I’m glad. Freddie is, too.”

They chatted for a minute—it turned out Ben would be attending the same school and grade as Freddie in the fall—before Stiles really did have to go.

He’d barely made it into the manor when Cora spotted him. “Hey, can you give me a hand?” She looked frazzled, a petal stuck to her cheek and tissue paper shreds stuck to her shirt. “Richard has the flu.”

“Sure. Let me just forward calls to your office so I can continue scheduling and stuff.”

“Thanks,” she said, physically slumping with relief. 

Cora showed him what to do when they were back in the flower room. “They’re pretty simple, don’t worry. I just won’t get finished with enough time if it’s just me. Richard’s sick and Nora is helping with a wedding today.” She passed him the supplies he would need: a huge pile of multicolored daisies, a metal band that would hold the bundles together, stamped with the couple’s initials, and a charm on a smaller ribbon, a gift to the guests that would go five to each centerpiece. 

Stiles found the work surprisingly soothing, once he got into the rhythm of it. He was thankful she’d asked him to help—he needed something to do with his hands that wouldn’t keep his mind too busy to mull over the ghost situation. He glanced at Cora. “How are the shelves working out for you?”

“Good. I like them and the new set up. How does Freddie like her day camp?”

Stiles grinned. “She’s enjoying it a lot. And so am I,” he admitted. “She needed to get out of the house and it’s easier to do my job without keeping an eye on her.”

Cora nodded. “That makes sense.” She smiled slightly. “She’s asked all of us about a million times why we don’t have dogs like Derek.” 

Stiles winced. “Yeah, she’s wanted one for forever, but we haven’t had the space.”

Cora lifted a brow and looked around pointedly. 

He snorted and said, “Or the _time._ ” He finished one centerpiece and moved onto the next. 

“I dunno, I think you’d have time now.” She smirked.

“Oh, yeah, between working, making sure Freddie survives to adulthood, and the ghost, I’ll definitely have time to housebreak a puppy.”

She frowned. “The ghost?”

Stiles shook his head. “The Bride. Never mind. She just makes me nervous.” 

She nodded slowly, like she didn’t believe him. “Well,” she said, starting a new centerpiece, “you don’t have to get a _puppy._ The shelter has adult dogs or older puppies that are already housetrained.” She’d done five arrangements to his two and he was starting to get self-conscious about it.

Derek sauntered in; Stiles saw him out of the corner of his eye. “Hey.” He leaned in from behind Stiles, their shoulders brushing.

He froze, his heart banging out of control, thinking he was about to kiss him, right here in front of Cora. 

Derek just leaned in and sniffed the daisies. “They look great,” he told Cora as he straightened up. “I came because someone called me about an appointment for catering and I don’t know your system.”

Stiles cursed. “Sorry, I must have forwarded calls to the wrong line.”

Derek shrugged. “The number is on your desk.”

“Thanks. I’ll just,” he gestured lamely at the door, “go take care of that.” He rushed out, feeling Derek’s heavy gaze on him as he fled. He knew Derek had noticed him flinch at the non-kiss, and didn’t know how to fix it.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're all still enjoying! <3 I'm just hopeful that this doesn't disappoint, but I'll let everyone reading it for the first time decide that lol. Thank you for your comments, they make me really happy.

Stiles knocked on the wall beside Freddie’s door, mildly irritated and trying not to show it. “Are you ready yet?”

She huffed. “I don’t want to change. Why can’t I go like this?”

Stiles entered the room and crossed his arms. “Because you have grass stains and mud on your shorts, now _please_ get dressed.” 

She glared, picking at the mud on her left pocket. 

“Now, or we aren’t going.”

Her face scrunched up, flushing red. 

“Do you want me to do your hair after you’re dressed?”

Her lip poked out in a pout, gaze darting away. “Yes,” she muttered sullenly. She went to her closet to pick out some clothes.

They were going to Scott and Allison’s for dinner, since they all finally had an evening free, so Stiles had told Freddie she could pick her own outfit, as long as it was clean. He usually let her pick things out anyway, but in this case he hadn’t even pointed her in a specific direction, which he was starting to regret. 

He’d thought that’d work to stave off any tantrum, but he had a feeling she was just tired and cranky, so probably nothing would work.

Freddie emerged from her closet carrying a Squirrel Girl t-shirt and a clean pair of jean shorts. She was still pouting, but her temper eased as she changed and Stiles put her hair back into a passable French braid. 

“Can I give the pie to Uncle Scott and Aunt Allison?” she muttered as they headed out to the car. 

“Yep. But I’m going to keep it up front until we get there.” He buckled her in and paused, watching her face. “Everything okay?”

She nodded, kicking her legs so her heels bounced off the seats. She flicked a nervous glance at him. “It’s just—Beth and Thomas’s moms…they keep calling me Winifred and Winnie, and now everyone keeps calling me that—except Ben and Cathleen. Cathleen punched Thomas because he called me Winnie the Pooh,” she mumbled. 

Stiles’s jaw flexed, cursing interfering PTA moms everywhere. He didn’t want to handle all of Freddie’s problems for her, but these were adults. They were his problem. “Okay. On Monday, we’ll talk to everyone about it, okay?”

She nodded, knuckling her eyes. “I asked them to stop, and told them that isn’t my name, but they didn't listen. They said “Freddie” is a boy’s name, but Mr. Harrolds heard them and told them that was inappropriate.” She stumbled over the word slightly, but she got there in the end. 

“Good. We’ll talk to them on Monday. No one calls a Stilinski by their first name, right?” he joked, smiling when she laughed. 

She was her usual self again by the time they got to Scott and Allison’s house, chattering about Cathleen’s right hook, Ben’s newest book, and what they were learning to build at camp. She carried the pie carefully in both hands as they made their way up to the porch. 

Allison opened the door before they managed to ring the bell. She beamed. “Hey! We saw you pull up. Is that for us?”

Freddie nodded and passed the pie over. “We made it for you!” She hugged Allison around the waist, clinging as they backed into the house together. 

Allison laughed. “Thank you.” She poked Stiles’s shoulder as he followed them in. “We missed you guys! You’ve been busy, I guess.” 

Stiles grimaced. “Yeah, there’s a lot going on.”

“The Hales running you ragged?”

Stiles turned to grin at Scott, who’d just emerged from the kitchen. He nearly tripped over himself running to hug him. They’d seen each other since he’d moved back, and they’d hung out when he’d come for his initial interviews, but those were just brief visits. It just wasn’t the same as it was in high school, when they’d seen each other every day. 

Allison huffed at them and asked Freddie what kind of pie they’d made. 

Stiles let go of Scott and grinned. “They aren’t running me ragged. I really like it,” he admitted. “It’s busy and kind of insane at times, but it’s actually fun.”

Scott grinned. “That’s great!” He gestured at the kitchen. “Dinner is ready when we are.” He glanced at Freddie and made a sad face. “What, not even a hello from my favorite niece?”

She laughed and launched at him for a tight hug.

Allison hooked an arm around Stiles’s waist for a side hug. “Hey there, handsome. You’re looking…” She swept her gaze over his face and looked surprised. “Pretty good, actually.”

“Thanks a lot!”

She pinched his ribs before pulling her arm away. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way, it’s just that every time I’ve seen you lately, you’ve been too pale, too tired, or too skinny. Being home has been good for you.” 

Stiles shrugged. “Yeah, probably. Speaking of being too skinny, I’m starving.”

“Uh-huh…” She narrowed her eyes, watching as he hastily slipped into the kitchen.

They were having roast chicken, glazed carrots, and mashed potatoes; Stiles caught Freddie’s eye and shook his head slightly before she could protest about the potatoes, which she was violently opposed to lately. Thankfully, she loved glazed carrots, which distracted her from the potatoes. 

“I started Camp Dragonfly!” she announced once everyone was seated at the table.

“Oh, really? That’s so cool. Do you like it?” Scott asked.

She nodded. “I made two friends and we learned how to weave last week and we learned computer programming and all _kinds_ of stuff. My friend Cathleen said last year they learned how to knit but she forgot so now she has to learn again…” Freddie basically dominated the conversation throughout dinner, something that kept Scott and Allison from questioning Stiles. 

They clearly wanted to, given the curious glances and half-formed words they managed when Freddie paused to take a breath or a bite of her dinner.

Stiles’s phone buzzed in his pocket while Freddie was telling them about Ben’s reading skills, so he chanced a peek. 

‘ _Would you and Freddie want to come swimming on Thursday?_ ’

He smiled involuntarily, his face flushing. ‘ _Yes, sounds great,_ ’ he replied, then, feeling eyes on him, looked up.

Caught.

Allison’s brows were lifted, eyes bright with curiosity. 

He put his phone away hastily and scooped up some potatoes, smiling innocently at her. He imagined it was about as convincing as Freddie’s smile whenever she’d done something.

Allison’s eyes narrowed again, then flicked to Freddie thoughtfully. 

Stiles tried to act like he hadn’t noticed.

“Freddie,” Allison said as they were putting their dishes away, “why don’t we go play with Jack and Trick while they get the pie ready?”

Freddie gasped. “Yes please!”

Jack and Trick were Scott and Allison’s cats, adopted last Halloween; Stiles still hadn’t gotten over their names. 

Freddie and Allison went to the living room together, while Freddie told Allison all about Viola.

Stiles glared at Scott.

He held his hands up. “Hey, I’m just here to dish out the pie.”

“Don’t lie to me, you aren’t good at it.”

He had the grace to look a little guilty, at least. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He started cutting the pie into meticulously even pieces. “But you _do_ have something going on that you haven’t told us. We can tell.”

“What are you, a hive mind?” he muttered.

Scott shot him a look. “We want to know what’s going on in your life. We’re your friends.”

“Nosy is what you are.” Stiles sighed, slumping against the counter. It wasn’t like he wouldn’t have told Scott eventually anyway. “It’s nothing. Well,” he amended, “it’s not serious. I’m just in a…a…casual physical relationship with Derek. Uh, Hale,” he added awkwardly. “So I’ve been busy in every sense of the word.”

Scott was frowning at him, pie knife held aloft like he’d forgotten he was holding it. “The guy who yelled at you?”

Stiles tired not to wince; of course, he’d texted Scott about his terrible first day, and of course Scott would _remember_. “Well, yeah. He’s super hot, though, and we’re having fun.”

Scott nodded and started serving up the pie. “Cool. Have him come with next time.” He set two plates on the table. 

“We aren’t…like that. It’s just sex.” His gaze darted to the living room, but Freddie was thoroughly distracted by the cats. 

Scott’s brows furrowed, confused, then wary. “You used to like relationships,” he said slowly. “Dating-type relationships.” 

Stiles shrugged. “I haven’t been in a relationship since Melanie.”

Scott bit his lip. “But, I mean…is that healthy?”

He scowled. “Not everyone _needs_ to be in a relationship to have a happy, fulfilling life.”

“I know that, but…” Scott sighed. “Fine. I’m glad you’re happy, I guess. Do you like him? As a person?”

Stiles smiled, relaxing. “Yeah, he’s a good guy. He’s funny and fun, and I like being around him.” He closed his mouth, startled, as he realized what that sounded like. He swallowed, looking down at his feet. 

Scott shoved a plate under his nose, loaded with way more pie than anyone else’s plate. 

Stiles took it gratefully, eating it at the counter as Scott called for Allison and Freddie.

“Can I spend the night here?” Freddie begged as they were getting ready to leave. She was hugging Trick, who was allowing this very patiently. 

“Um…” 

“She could, if you wanted,” Allison said quickly, with a mischievous look in her eye like Scott had somehow already filled her in. “Ah, some other night, we could have a sleepover. Give you an early night.” She waggled her brows. 

Freddie looked up at Stiles, her mouth opening wide in a grin of unbridled joy.

Stiles made a face at Allison. “Some other time,” he said firmly. “I’ll let you know. Freddie, please put your shoes on.”

She sighed and let Trick go to pull on her blue sneakers. She gave both Scott and Allison lingering hugs, petted Jack behind the ears, and allowed herself to be shuffled out to the car. “Can I really spend the night one day?”

Stiles helped her buckle in. “Yeah, one day, but not today.” 

She sighed loudly. “So, later?”

Stiles’s mouth compressed. “Yep. Later.” He closed her door, scrubbed a hand over his face, and got in the driver’s seat. 

After a warm shower, rigorous tooth brushing, and careful untangling of her hair, Freddie was sleepy and clingy, holding Stiles’s hand even after he’d tucked her in.

“Can you read to me?”

“Yes, gremlin, but you have to let me go get a book first.”

She smiled, her eyes already half closed, and let go of his hand.

He heard singing while he read, but studiously ignored it in favor of finishing the page. Out in the hall, footsteps clicked past the door, down the hall, until they faded, along with the singing. Stiles checked on Freddie, pleased to find her already sleeping, and got up to put the book away and shut off her light. 

Stiles fell into an uneasy sleep almost as soon as he laid in bed, dreams bombarding him. He was walking in the dream, holding Freddie’s hand in the sunshine and telling her about something. It was an easy feeling, familiar and common enough in life that he was instantly at ease. One moment, Freddie was swinging his hand, and the next, she was being ripped away from him, snatched right out of his grasp and left him holding air. She was just _gone._

He woke with a hiccupping sob at four in the morning. He rubbed his face and stumbled out of bed. He knew it was just a dream, and that Freddie was fine, but he had to go see for himself. He lurched into the hallway and into her bedroom.

She was fine, sleeping just where he’d left her, of course, several stuffed animals crowded around her. 

Stiles wiped his face again and retreated to his room, calling himself a moron. It was just a dream. He sprawled across his bed, staring at the ceiling in the dark, flexing his hands against the bedspread anxiously. He hated dreams that felt realistic enough that he couldn’t tell the difference when he woke up, but he had them often enough to know he wouldn’t be falling back to sleep anytime soon. He sighed and grabbed his phone from the nightstand. Maybe he could watch some Netflix or something until it was time to get ready for the day. 

There was a text waiting for him from Derek, time stamped fifteen minutes ago. ‘ _Can’t sleep. Tomorrow (today?) is going to be fucking awful.’_

He smiled and replied, and let Derek distract him from his nightmare.


	21. Chapter 21

Derek was in a bad mood. He hated that it made him feel like a petulant kid, but it was the only way to describe the irritability bubbling under his skin, the way he was losing his temper over ridiculous things, the way he couldn’t get this stubborn fucking piece of wood to do what he wanted. 

He, Viola, Stiles, and Freddie had gone swimming at the lake last Thursday, and it’d been great. Viola had a blast playing with Freddie, whose boundless energy nearly matched hers, and Derek had fun being with them, had even gotten to kiss Stiles in the shallows. Briefly, of course, since Freddie was there and Stiles apparently didn’t want her to see them.

And that was fine. It was just…Derek wanted to spend more than a couple hours with him, and that…was probably not a good sign.

He swore as the wood in his hands shattered, useless. 

“You okay?”

He looked up, trying not to grimace as Stiles approached his work shed. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Just trying to get this done.” He looked back at his tools blankly. 

Stiles’s next breath was loud in the silence of the shed, his feet shuffling almost awkwardly over the floor. “Tonight,” he began, and Derek tried not to tense. 

“I’m not really in the mood right now,” he said through his teeth.

“Oh.” His voice was soft, barely audible, and Derek had to look back at him. He was biting at the inside of his lip. “I, uh, I just thought. I figured I would offer because I, well. I sort of arranged for Freddie to stay with my best friend, her uncle, basically, for the night, so I, uh, I could stay over. With you. If you, um. Still wanted that.” 

Derek studied him and hated himself a little; Stiles looked hopeful and earnest, his face flushed after his nervous ramble. He’d just been trying to give Derek something he wanted. It wasn’t _his_ fault Derek got _feelings_ and started wanting more from their supposedly casual relationship, but here he was anyway. “That sounds great, actually,” he said with a small smile. “Sorry. I meant it—I’m just in a bad mood right now.”

Stiles smiled back. “Well, maybe I can cheer you up. I’ll bring dinner,” he added. 

Derek’s shoulders relaxed. “Can’t wait.”

They had an evening wedding at a church to set up, so Derek was busy all the way up until Stiles was due to arrive at his house. He let Viola out back, texted Stiles where the emergency key was hidden, and got in the shower. He grunted with pleasure as the hot water beat down on his knotted muscles, leaving him boneless on the inside of six minutes. 

“Do you have someone in there with you?” Stiles’s voice made him jump, bright with laughter as he pushed the bathroom door open, letting in a blast of cold air. 

He hissed. “No. I just have a fantastic shower.” He flicked water at Viola’s nose, which she had poked around the curtain.

“Sounds like it. Well, there’s pizza in the kitchen. I’ll just leave you two alone.” The door shut on his laughter, making Derek smile even as shampoo ran into his eyes.

When Derek was dressed—sweats only, he knew he wouldn’t be in them for long—he went out to the living room to find the pizza boxes stacked on the coffee table and Stiles eating on the couch, feeding pieces of pepperoni to Viola in exchange for tricks. 

Stiles held a piece up as he watched, then laughed when Viola sat. “No, you already did that one.” 

Derek crept up behind Stiles and waved at Viola by holding a hand up and folding his fingers down twice. 

She batted at the air with her left forepaw like she was waving back. 

Stiles laughed, delighted, and gave her the pepperoni—and a good chunk of his pizza slice, too. He noticed Derek when he was turning and jumped. “God, don’t _do_ that. You scared the hell out of me, oh my god.” He pressed a palm to his chest. 

Derek snorted and flopped onto the couch beside him.

Viola whined, resting her head on Stiles’s knee. 

“I think you’ve had enough,” he said, glancing guiltily at Derek.

“This is why I eat at the table.” Derek let himself slump further into the couch, leg resting against Stiles’s. He grabbed a piece of pizza and slapped the box closed before Viola could nose into it. “Thanks for picking this up.”

Stiles nodded, looking down as he petted Viola’s ears. “Thanks for having me over. I, um, I know you weren’t exactly…I should have asked before setting up Freddie’s sleepover, I mean. I just…last time, you were disapp-”

Derek grabbed him by the back of the neck and kissed him, their mouths slick from pizza grease and the sauce smudged on Stiles’s bottom lip. “I was just having a bad day. I’m glad you’re here.”

Stiles smiled. 

They finished the pizza and made out on the couch for a while, lazy and relaxed, because neither of them had anywhere to be. They kept the pace slow as they went to bed, lips dragging over each other, removing their clothes languid and unhurried. 

Derek took his time kissing him, pressing him into the mattress and rolling their hips together. He murmured against Stiles’s throat and smiled when he nodded frantically. Eager as he was, they still went slow, so slow it felt like a dream, hazy and hot. Derek was sweaty and trembling by the time Stiles slid lube slick fingers inside him, breathing harsh against his ears. His eyes nearly crossed when Stiles deemed him ready and replaced his fingers with his cock. He shook and swore and rocked his hips, grasping at Stiles’s shoulders and mouthing clumsily at his throat and it went on forever and not long enough all at once. 

“Oh my god,” Stiles muttered against his cheek.

Derek had partially collapsed onto him, and he’d flopped sideways under the weight. He nodded, too breathless to reply. 

Stiles mindlessly ran his hands up and down Derek’s back, one foot ticking back and forth like always. 

They managed to get up after a while, stumbling to the bathroom to rinse off and then shamble back to bed. 

Viola had crawled into her kennel to sleep at some point, her tail sticking out of the open door.

Derek snorted and flopped onto the bed. 

Stiles climbed in next to him, pinching and prodding until he moved over. “I have to sleep on this side,” he mumbled, then dropped his head on Derek’s chest. It was only moments before he started snoring.

Derek brushed his damp hair back so he could see his face relaxing as he fell deeper into sleep.

Stiles kicked his feet under the blanket and burrowed closer, slinging one arm across Derek’s midsection.

Derek stared at the ceiling, still brushing his fingers idly through Stiles’s hair. He wanted this always and that…was worrying. He glanced down warily. He probably should talk to Stiles about it, but…Stiles had freaked out about Derek asking him to stay that one time.

Of course, he followed up by making arrangements so he could stay another night. 

Derek closed his eyes. He’d just have to woo him first, ease him carefully into a relationship. He wouldn’t have made an effort if he didn’t want it to work on some level, too, right? He thought about it and figured it wouldn’t be a bad thing to get to know Freddie a bit better, too. They were a package deal, and it wouldn’t exactly be a hardship. He was reasonably sure Freddie liked him, or at least tolerated him in the interest of playing with Viola, and he thought she was a good kid, curious and adventurous like Laura had been. He nodded to himself as plans began forming and kissed Stiles’s forehead, then curled down around him as he slept.

Derek woke up early to make breakfast the next morning. It was Saturday and they didn’t have any weddings that needed their help, so he knew Stiles was off, too. He’d finished cooking by the time Stiles stumbled into the kitchen, groggy and half asleep.

“You cooked?” he mumbled, one eye still mostly closed.

“Yes.”

Viola whined loudly and pushed at Stiles’s leg with her head until he rubbed her ears. 

Derek waited until they were at the table eating to ask, “Do you want to go out today?”

Stiles looked up blearily from his coffee. “I have Freddie today.”

“I know. You should bring her, we can go to the park.”

Stiles gave him a long, strange look. “Okay," he said at last, and Derek smiled. 

Stiles drove, since he had Freddie’s booster seat in his car and it was easier than moving it over to Derek’s truck or taking two vehicles. He had to pick Freddie up from his friends’ house, he told Derek, which was fine, except he kept fiddling with the radio and tapping his fingers as he drove. They were turning onto a cul-de-sac when Derek realized it was because Stiles was nervous, maybe about them picking up Freddie together.

He should’ve taken his own car, he realized belatedly. But Stiles had offered to drive and didn’t seem to mind that Derek had accepted up until now, when he seemed jittery and nervous.

“Wait here?” Stiles looked unsure as they parked outside of his friend’s house. 

“Sure.” He hadn’t expected to go in, anyway. That would be rude. 

Stiles smiled briefly and got out, jogging up the driveway to the door.

Derek took his phone out, thumbing open a message from Cora, which turned out to be a centerpiece…maybe. ‘ _Why?_ ’ he responded.

‘ _Bride wants orange lilies. Bride gets orange lilies._ ’

He tapped the picture to enlarge it. There were several other types of flowers in with the lilies, all orange. ‘ _God. Didn’t she want any other colors?_ ’

‘ _There is no god here, Derek. Only ORANGE._ ’

He laughed and wished her good luck, then looked up.

Stiles and Freddie were heading toward the car hand in hand; he was holding a Doc McStuffins backpack while she chattered animatedly. 

She spotted Derek. “Is Viola here?” she asked, eyes brightening.

Derek winced. Okay, she _definitely_ only tolerated him for his dog. But he could work with that, probably. 

“No, she had to stay home. But we’re all going to the park for lunch.”

Freddie thought about that. “Okay!” She waved at Derek happily enough and scrambled into the backseat. “I took a lot of pictures,” she announced while buckling in. “It’s almost full again, and then I can get them printed again and put more pages in my book.” She kicked her legs excitedly.

“Don’t kick my seat,” Stiles said, flicking a quick glance in the rearview mirror.

Derek hunched his shoulders automatically, remembering when his mother would tell him the same thing _constantly._

They picked up food on the way to the park, since Derek’s pantry had been basically barren, and Freddie seemed excited about that. Apparently they didn’t eat out much.

“My friend Cathleen said they _never_ get to have picnics at her house. Her dad is allergic to the grass and he sneezes and sneezes and _sneezes_ when he goes outside.” 

“Wow.” Stiles smiled. “Maybe we should invite Cathleen and Ben next time we go on a picnic.”

Freddie gasped. “Yes! When can we? I have to tell them, it’ll be so fun, and they can meet Derek and Viola and they’ll get to eat with us-”

Derek glanced at Stiles, who looked about as alarmed by Freddie’s inclusion of Derek and Viola in her future plans as he expected him to. He sighed. 

Freddie didn’t seem to notice.

The park was busy with people, so they found an empty spot in the grass to eat. Derek and Stiles laid the food out while Freddie snapped random pictures—action shots of the two of them, from the sound of where the camera shutter was coming from.

Freddie threw her arms around Stiles’s neck spontaneously before they started eating. “Thank you!”

He kissed her cheek. “You’re welcome. Now eat your lunch.”

It took some convincing to get her to sit down and eat, as excited as she was, but she eventually calmed down. “Can we play hide and seek?” she asked, sucking down the last of her water. “Please?”

“Ah,” Stiles began, glancing at Derek like he was about to use him as an excuse not to.

“I’d love to play!” he blurted. “I can count first.”

Stiles’s eyes narrowed, but he smiled almost reflexively when Freddie cheered in joy. “Let’s clean up first, then we’ll play. Two rounds,” he added, holding up his fingers.

Freddie nodded frantically while she swept all of her trash up and into an empty bag. She looked around wildly until she spotted a nearby trash can, running to it with her arms full. 

Derek muffled a laugh and followed three feet behind, picking up everything she dropped while Stiles cleaned up the remainder of their picnic. 

Freddie grinned up at Derek while he was throwing the trash away, looking strikingly like her father and melting his heart. “You gotta count to a hundred while we hide,” she said cheerfully. 

Derek smirked. “Okay.”

Her grin widened and she ran back to Stiles. 

They established “base” (the trash can), and a perimeter (Freddie specifically was told not to cross into the road, parking lot, or the woods), and Derek closed his eyes to begin counting. He smiled as memory flooded back; he played this game countless times with his sisters and Peter when they were young, and as the middle child often got stuck being the seeker. He’d spent many hours of his childhood counting with his eyes closed. 

He’d reached sixty-five when an ear splitting shriek wrenched his eyes open. He spun and ran in the direction he thought it’d come from. _Of course,_ he thought as panic made his heart trip in his chest. _Of course this would happen, right now, today._ Stiles would break things off with him instantly if Freddie had gotten hurt. Wouldn’t he? It was Derek’s fault they were playing hide and seek in the first place. Lost as he was in thought, he almost tripped over Freddie, who was sprawled on the ground. 

He probably wasn’t cut out for this. He shook his head and looked down at her, halfway to asking if she was okay before he understood what he was seeing.

Freddie was sitting in the grass with a lapful of excited, wriggling puppy, laughing her ass off with joy. 

Stiles nearly knocked Derek off his feet running for her. He gaped for a moment.

Freddie beamed up at them. “I found a puppy! Can I keep her?”

“Keep…?” Stiles slowly shook his head. “Her owner is around here somewhere, gremlin.”

“Nuh-uh, she doesn’t have a collar and she’s all alone!”

Derek eyed the puppy and grimaced. Her coat was shiny and clean, and she looked well fed, bright eyed and friendly. From the suspicious look on Stiles’s face, he could tell he was thinking the same thing. 

Stiles caught his gaze and twisted his mouth to the side, eyes flicking around.

 _Damn it._ He nodded and stepped away so he could look for the owner. Behind him, he heard Stiles trying to convince Freddie that they couldn’t keep the puppy.

“But she’s all alone! She needs us.”

“Oof,” Derek muttered, hastening toward a group by a table.

“Gremlin, her owner is probably somewhere nearby and really worried about her,” Stiles said gently.

Derek explained to the guys at the table what was going on. The puppy didn’t belong to them, but they all got up to help look for her owner. 

They searched with Derek for about an hour—during which, he couldn’t help noticing miserably, Freddie got more and more attached—before they found an elderly but spritely woman holding a pink leash and purple collar, horribly upset and frantically searching the park.

Derek was elected to take her to the Stilinskis, which sucked. 

Stiles saw them coming and grimaced before he stood. He nudged Freddie gently.

“Oh, thank you so much,” the woman cried. “I was scared to put the collar on too tight and Maggie slipped right out and ran before I could catch her, I’ve been so worried.”

Freddie’s arms tightened briefly around the squirming puppy in her lap before she let her go.

Maggie ran to the woman, tail high and wagging as she recognized her mother.

“Thank you so much for catching her, she got a lot further than I thought she’d be able to,” the woman said. 

Derek watched Freddie smile and nod at the woman’s effusive thanks, though her eyes were tearing up. _Great,_ he thought. _Now she’s going to associate me with puppies being taken away. She’s going to hate me forever._

Stiles looked miserable too, he noticed, surprised. Not like an unwilling parent who’d just dodged taking in a stray. “Come on,” he said quietly. “I think we should probably head home.”

Freddie sniffled and reached for his hand.

When they stopped at Derek’s house to drop him off, he was surprised when Stiles got out of the car with him.

He set a hand on Derek’s waist and smiled a little. “You look like you snatched that puppy out of her hands yourself. It isn’t your fault.”

He shrugged. “Want to bring her in to spend time with Viola?” He was a little happy to see Stiles actually pause to think about it.

“Nah,” he said at last. “Better not. But thanks. This was fun.” He smiled and leaned in, giving him a quick, light parting kiss before going back to the car. 

Derek watched them go until they were out of sight. Then he went inside to make some calls.


	22. Chapter 22

Derek still felt bad about the puppy thing, so he made some…arrangements. He bided his time all day, keeping busy with the work he actually had to get done anyway, until Talia, Peter, and Laura headed off to a wedding that had hired outside catering and landscapers. Cora cut out early to have drinks with Erica and Boyd, and Isaac stayed to practice a new recipe.

Derek waited at the manor until Stiles returned from picking Freddie up; they’d had a half day at Camp Dragonfly, which worked out so well for Derek that he almost couldn’t believe it.

Stiles glanced at Derek warily as they walked in. “Hey,” he said slowly. 

“Hey. You guys want to go for a ride?”

It was comical, the way the two Stilinskis looked at each other with near identical looks of disbelief. 

Derek snorted. “Oh, come on. It isn’t that weird.”

“Go put your backpack away,” Stiles muttered to Freddie. 

She waved at Derek and ran by, backpack swinging from her arm like a tiny wrecking ball. 

“I actually have a—are you okay?” Derek blurted, noticing how Stiles was twitching, eyes darting around like a prey animal looking for escape. 

Stiles shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.” He huffed. “It’s the Bride,” he muttered. “She keeps _glaring_ at me, it’s weird.”

Derek frowned, momentarily sidetracked. “She’s never done that before,” he said, memories of the quiet comforting presence of his childhood filling his mind.

“Are you _sure?_ ”

Derek kept frowning, remembering Peter’s scowl when he mentioned the Bride to him.

Stiles crossed his arms. “She creeps me out.”

And, oh, there was his opening. Perfect. “You know,” he said slyly, “maybe getting a dog would keep her away.”

Stiles’s face went stern. “We can’t.”

“Why?” He didn’t give him a chance to answer. “No one here would mind, and she avoids Viola. Plus, I could help you with it, and Freddie would love it.”

Stiles squinted at him. “Freddie is fine.”

“It would give her a sense of responsibility and security, and it would make you feel safer, too.”

He glared at him, arms still crossed tightly across his chest. Then his expression cracked, softening to weary acceptance. “Fine,” he sighed. “She doesn’t get everything she wants by crying about it, you know,” he grumbled. 

Derek smiled sunnily at him. “Of course not.” He kept smiling even when Stiles looked unconvinced. 

They didn’t tell Freddie where they were going as they loaded up into Derek’s truck, which was an ordeal, since they had to move Freddie’s booster seat and field her questions about why. The truck would be able to fit all the dog supplies they were going to have to get after they stopped at the shelter. 

Freddie didn’t seem to notice where they were heading, which was apparently amusing to Stiles, who had a little smile tucked in the corner of his mouth. 

“Can we get dinner? Are we going to the park? Can we have another picnic?”

“You’ll see, gremlin. We’ll have dinner when we get home.”

She leaned forward as far as her seatbelt would let her. “Is Derek gonna stay for dinner?”

He glanced at Stiles, brows lifted. 

Stiles laughed. “Oh, he’s staying for dinner. He’s going to need to help out.”

Freddie nodded, looking satisfied. “Sometimes I get to help cook, too,” she told Derek sagely. “I get to stir.”

Derek grinned. “I bet you’re good at it.”

She smiled back.

The Beacon Hills animal shelter was in the same lot as the vet, who offered up his free time regularly to keep the animals at the shelter healthy. 

Freddie noticed the vet and frowned. “Is Viola sick? Is she at the dog doctor?”

“Veterinarian,” Stiles told her. “No, she isn’t sick.”

Freddie turned her head. “Why are we here?”

“You’ll see.”

She sighed noisily. 

Derek smirked and parked up front; there were only a few other cars in the lot, some volunteers to walk the dogs and whoever was running the desk.

Stiles got out first, rounding the side of the truck so he could help Freddie out. 

Derek took his time, carefully removing the keys from the ignition, fiddling with his seatbelt, in an effort to give them time to get to the door. He climbed out to find them both waiting for him, somewhat impatiently. He lifted a brow at Stiles. 

“You’re part of this,” he said, though it sounded like a threat. He looked down at Freddie. “Okay, don’t be loud.”

She scrunched her face up at him. 

“We’re going to go in there and visit some dogs. And,” he said over her loud gasp, “if we find one that’s right for us, we’ll be taking one home.”

There was a long beat of silence before Freddie gasped again. “Really? _Really?_ We’re going to get a dog? A real dog? From in there? To keep?”

“Yes, to keep, yes, a real dog,” Stiles replied patiently, glancing up to grin crookedly at Derek. 

Freddie kept babbling questions like she couldn’t believe it, though she started tearing up halfway through.

Stiles answered her patiently and ushered her inside, so they could at least get started. 

The woman behind the desk was happy to help; she gave Stiles a clipboard of paperwork to fill out—one sheet, back and front, since Beacon Hills was so small—and led the three of them back to the canine room. 

“So all of our dogs in here are child-friendly—good with families, too, and most are good with other dogs and cats, but as usual it’s a case-by-case sort of thing. Personalities may clash.”

Derek hung back by the door while Freddie raced back and forth, too excited to stop at one dog for very long.

“Thank you,” Stiles said quietly, touching his arm briefly on his way past.

Derek smiled. 

“-and I’ll be right over here, so just let me know if there’s anyone you want to meet.” The woman stepped back to stand beside Derek while Stiles and Freddie paused by the doors, petting curious snouts as they tried to decide. She looked at Derek and smiled perkily. “Hi! I’m Stephanie.”

“Derek,” he said, kind of glancing at her. 

She turned so she was facing him completely. “Do you have a dog?”

He frowned. “Yes.”

She smiled even wider. “You must be _great_ with animals. It was so sweet of you to bring your friend and his daughter here.” She touched his arm lightly and smiled, tipping her head. 

Derek shuffled a little, just out of her reach. “Uh-huh, yeah,” he mumbled, because he didn’t know what else to say. He couldn’t correct her, because he and Stiles didn’t even have a _name_ for this thing. 

“She’s so cute, her mom must be adorable,” Stephanie said absently. “Do you have any kids?”

“Nope.”

Her eyes gleamed. “Are you a local? I don’t know that we’ve met…”

Derek glanced around for a rescue and couldn’t help noticing that Stiles looked amused by Stephanie’s blatant flirting; he’d done that in the diner, too, Derek recalled. He hadn’t cared when the waitress was hitting on him. Why was he the only one getting jealous here?

The answer, he thought, was probably depressing. Why be jealous when you didn't care for the person being flirted with or hit on? That wasn’t fair, he decided quickly, wincing. Stiles obviously cared for him. Just...not the way Derek wanted him to.

Freddie picked out a yellow furred mix, six months old, of unidentifiable origins, who she promptly and unwaveringly named Kite. 

Derek could tell by looking at Kite that he was going to be _huge_ fully grown, so things should get interesting in a month or two. 

“He’s been neutered already and has all his shots. Just finish filling this out and it’s official,” Stephanie chirped. She bumped into Derek on her way around the desk. “Oops.” She squeezed his arm and smiled, lashes fluttering. “Sorry.”

He nodded, moving closer to Stiles while he finished the paperwork.

Freddie was on the floor with the puppy, rolling around with him, completely oblivious to the rest of the world. 

They walked out together, using a harness and leash of Viola’s that Derek had brought just for this moment. They were almost too small for Kite, who would very obviously need his own. Thankfully, he was more interested in licking Freddie’s hands than running, so he didn’t pull on the leash much. 

Derek pulled out his keys and unlocked the truck, catching the slip of paper that fluttered out with them reflexively. 

Freddie said, “Look, Kite, your first car ride! This is my seat and—oops,” and he looked up to see Kite lounged across the driver’s seat. 

“Get in, gremlin, and he’ll come back to you,” Stiles said as he badly stifled laughter. 

Derek encouraged Kite into the backseat, giving his pointy ears a hearty rub, and closed the door.

Stiles looked at him and cracked a grin. “Whew,” he said.

Derek snorted and looked at the crumpled slip of paper in his hand. He unfolded it and scowled at Stephanie’s phone number. When had she done that? Was she a trained pick pocket or something? He looked up when Stiles laughed and glowered some more. “What?”

“Nothing,” he snickered. 

Derek’s jaw clenched. “It doesn’t bother you?” he asked, waving the paper a little. “Her hitting on me?”

“What? No.” He snorted. “People flirting with you is a symptom of your face, dude. I’m not surprised.”

Derek scowled, dropping his gaze.

“Plus,” Stiles said with a shrug, “we never said anything about being exclusive, since we’re just casual.” Then he rounded the truck and got in.

Derek stewed on that the whole ride to the pet supply store, because Stiles was right, and that was his whole problem. He wanted to be exclusive, and non-casual, and he wanted Stiles all to himself. He wanted Stiles to want _him_ all to himself.

When they arrived, Derek stopped Stiles before he could let Freddie and Kite out of the backseat. “I just…I want to date you. For real. Exclusively.” His heart hammered, a cold sweat breaking out across the back of his neck. Jesus, it was _just_ like high school. 

Stiles studied him, his expression guarded. “You know that even if we are “for real” dating, I won’t necessarily have more time for you. Freddie still comes first.”

“Of course,” Derek said, swamped with relief. It wasn’t an outright _no,_ so he’d take it. “But if we were dating, we wouldn’t have to keep it from her, right?”

Stiles considered it. “I guess not…”

Derek nodded. “And I was hoping—I mean, I’d like it if she joined us when we—if we do go out sometimes.” He was trying to say he wanted to spend time with her and Stiles, as well as _just_ Stiles, but he wasn’t sure if that was getting across. 

Stiles smiled a little. “We’ll have to talk about it more, but I’d like that, too.” He inhaled sharply. “Now, you’re going to help me with all of this, since you did it.” And he opened the back door.

Kite leaped straight out, nearly flattening Derek, but with Stiles and Freddie laughing so hard, he couldn’t seem to mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry i posted so late; i have a sore throat and so much snot so I slept all day to try to exorcise it.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're all enjoying this as we scoot along to the end. I have a cold and have forgotten what I wanted to say but am too lazy to uncheck the chapter notes thingy so here we are

Freddie was on cloud nine. The only complaint she had for an entire week was separating from Kite to go to day camp, but even that was relatively minor, since she’d gotten pictures of Kite printed and liked to show them off. Stiles dropped her off at Camp Dragonfly, Kite off at Delia Carpenter’s doggie daycare, and headed back to work feeling like he’d survived an emotional tornado.

Kite was as energetic as Freddie and twice as vocal, but Stiles couldn’t fault his methods: his first night home, he’d given one, booming bark, and Stiles hadn’t seen or heard the Bride since. 

Cora and the Three loved him; Peter acted aloof but Stiles had heard him baby talking just that morning, though it was a tossup as to whether he was demeaning a delivery person who’d ruined a cake or talking to Kite. 

Stiles had to help set up for a midday wedding at the manor. The Three were short a few pairs of hands, so he’d volunteered to help serve the early dinner at the reception. He helped set up the tables and chairs—weirdly involved, color coordinated ribbons and flowers, he had no idea why, he just followed orders—during the service, that way the party could move seamlessly into the ballroom.

Boyd and Erica were nowhere to be found when Stiles passed through the kitchen to locate the extra serving trays. 

Isaac rolled his eyes when he asked if he’d seen them. “They’ll turn up. Also, pasta, at a wedding? Are they insane?”

Stiles laughed. “The couple specifically requested it.”

“There will be tears, mark my words.” He shook his head and got back to work.

Stiles found the trays and located Rissa, the head waitress, to pass them over, then moved on to his next task, his mind wandering to his other project. He’d been doing some prodding, but Erica, Isaac, and Boyd knew almost nothing about the Bride except that they used to see her at sleepovers in the manor when they were kids. Laura just knew what Derek had already told Stiles, and Cora knew even less.

What he needed to do was talk to Talia and Peter about it; they may have more information, since they had lived with her longer. He made plans to corner Peter, who was surprisingly slippery for someone who acted like they didn’t care what other people were doing, and then Talia, while the wedding party filtered in. He loaded up trays with champagne under Erica’s orders during the first dance and nearly dropped a plate.

Erica caught it. “Ha! No casualties before-”

There was a crash, followed by Isaac cursing.

“Fucking damn it,” she muttered, stalking away to deal with the mess. 

“Dinner in twenty,” Rissa said, zipping by to trade her empty tray for a full one. “Tim will be here in a few, he’ll fill the trays, you start serving.”

“Got it.” He took the empty glasses to the sink for Henry the dishwasher before he went back to the trays.

He kind of liked serving at weddings. It was insane, completely, people were rude on occasion, and exhausting, but every once in a while, the high energy of keeping up with the drink-happy wedding guests was kind of fun. Plus, he was pretty sure Derek had a thing for the uniforms. Stiles could feel his intense gaze on him throughout the afternoon; it was kind of thrilling. They still needed to talk, outline their expectations for their relationship, but for now, Stiles was still enjoying the anticipation and excitement of everything. 

He refilled a table’s wine glasses, smiling and joking with them about their drinks so early in the evening, while fantasizing about slipping away with Derek once the wedding slowed down a bit. They could go make out in the flower room before anyone noticed they were missing. After all, Derek was only there to help Peter with the exceptionally heavy and elaborate cake. No one would miss him once it was cut.

Something cold wrapped tight around Stiles’s left hand, yanking him to a stop and holding him in place. 

It felt like ice spreading through his veins, freezing him solid, yet a glance down showed nothing but his hand at his side. A fine tremor overtook him, rattling the empty champagne flutes he was carrying. 

A hand clamped on his shoulder, warmth suddenly flooding back. “Are you alright?”

Stiles blinked at Peter, startled by both the freezing sensation and the touch—Peter had never reached out before, and had been seen actively moving out of bumping range. He’d assumed he liked his space and had gone out of his way not to invade it. “Yes,” he managed, blinking to clear his eyes. “Yes, sorry.”

Peter nodded slowly and backed away. 

Stiles turned, trying to get his bearings; he felt weighted by dread suddenly, guilt and sorrow.

Rissa popped up in front of him. “Dinner time. Start serving, then prepare to be a napkin dispenser.” She swapped his tray for a pasta laden one with a table number placard in the center. 

Once all of the guests were eating, Stiles spotted Talia and abandoned his napkin-pile duties to corner her. 

She smiled when she saw him approaching. “Hey.”

“Hi. I wanted to ask you about the Hale Bride,” he said quickly.

Her brows rose. 

“Anything you know, please. She’s freaking me out, and I want to know more about her.”

Talia frowned. “She’s harassing you?”

He shook his head. “No, not…not really, or not yet.” He explained the door thing, the glaring, and the moment he wasn’t quite sure of earlier. “And I would just feel better if I knew more about her.” 

“I’m sorry, Stiles, but I don’t know much.” She ran her hand down her dress, like she was uncomfortable. “We never knew where to start, so we never found out much. Just what we were told from family members who met her before us and so on. We eventually gave up,” she added with a helpless shrug. “Possibly she was a Hale cousin, but no one could remember how long she’d been here, and there were so many of us—my grandmother had four siblings, and her mother had even more.”

Stiles frowned, plucking nervously at his sleeve. “Well, she must have gotten married here, right?” he asked, thinking there might be a marriage license somewhere on file.

Talia smiled sadly. “Or she tried to get married here,” she said, and Stiles was too horrified by that to speak for a moment. “I may have some documents in the attic, boxes of old family things that no one’s bothered to sort in decades. Do you want to look through them?”

He nodded. “Yes, please. I wasn’t joking. I know everyone says she’s always been kind to children, but I don’t want her to scare Freddie the way she’s trying to scare me.” He set his jaw, daring Talia to say she wasn’t. 

“Has she said…why?” she asked instead. 

“She hasn’t said anything,” he muttered. “But maybe I’ll ask her when I have a name.”

Talia flashed him a brief, surprised smile, before Rissa was calling for him and he had to get back to work. 

“Hey,” Derek said sometime later, catching Stiles around the waist. 

Stiles laughed. “Hey there.” Most of the guests were gone or leaving, so when Derek swept him into an impromptu slow dance between the empty tables, he was happy to go along with it. He set his arms around his neck, brushing his fingers through his hair. 

Derek leaned in, rubbing their noses together before taking his mouth in a kiss as slow and tender as the dance he was leading them in. 

“You’re pretty good at that,” Stiles managed when they came to a stop.

Derek snorted and he smacked his chest. 

“I meant the dancing.”

“Practice,” he said smugly.

Stiles laughed and bounced forward on his toes to give Derek an impulsive peck on the lips. 

Derek smiled, a wide, bright thing, like he was surprised. 

“I have to go pick Freddie and Kite up.” Stiles squeezed his hands.

“Okay. See you later?”

“Yes.” Stiles kissed him again, relishing the fluttery, warm feeling it gave him, and headed for the door. 

Rissa and Erica gave him the go ahead, but he didn’t have time to change, so he’d have to go in the serving uniform.

He jangled his keys in his hand as he went for the side door, through the family kitchen. He noticed a couple of Freddie’s toys in the living room and glowered, reminding himself to tell her she needed to take her stuff back to her room when she was done with it. 

The Bride appeared in his path, shocking and furious. Her eyes were bloodshot, her hair slipping loose from its elaborate styling. She glared at him, her lip curling as she blocked the door. _Her first,_ she said, cold and echoing in his head. 

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “Get. Out. Of. My. Way.” 

She glared for another moment before fading out of sight. 

Stiles stomped outside, fuming. He was _going_ to find out who she was, dammit. He slammed into his car and yanked his phone out. He texted one of the smartest people he knew. ‘ _I need to identify a ghost. What’s the first step when no one knows who she is except that she’s part of the family?_ ’

‘ _Hale Bride?_ ’ Lydia guessed almost immediately. ‘ _I’ve never seen her, but we’ve all heard stories. Start with the fashion; if she was wealthy, her dress was modern, and you’ve got a year of death. If she wasn’t as well off, the dress might be a few years out of date. Good luck._ ’

He scowled and started his car. How was he supposed to find out what year her dress was from? He couldn’t exactly go to her and ask “Hey, how wealthy were you and was your dress modern?” _Ghosts,_ he thought grumpily.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly if everyone found me as funny as i think i am, then the world would be a much happier place.

The Beacon County Fair ran from May to the very end of July, and any local had been at least twice in their lives, which meant Derek had an _obligation_ to take Freddie and Stiles when he heard Stiles say he’d only been once, and, of course, Freddie had never been. 

“This is a terrible idea,” Stiles muttered as they parked. His gaze was locked on one of the rides that went high in the air and swung riders around, people screaming as it swung. He hadn’t wanted to go at first, but Derek had talked him into it, away from the piles of dusty papers he’d been sorting through in the attic and into the shower first, then the car.

Freddie, in the back seat, looked conflicted; she’d wanted to bring Kite and Viola along for the fun, but Stiles had thought it best if they didn’t. 

They’d left both dogs in Josh’s care, who was thrilled to be making double for the day. 

Derek paid for wristbands for them, which had replaced the tickets system a few years ago. 

“I could have bought ours,” Stiles said warily. 

“I invited you.” Derek smirked and stepped away from the entrance. 

“Dad,” Freddie said seriously, grabbing Stiles’s arm. “I want to go on _that_ one.” She pointed at the HYDRA ride. 

Stiles’s face paled. “Um, what about the Tilt-A-Whirl?” he asked. “Or the Ferris wheel? You don’t want to go on such a big ride first, right? We could play some games.”

Freddie shook her head. “I want that one.”

Stiles gnawed his bottom lip. “You might be too short for it, gremlin,” he told her hopefully. “Let’s go see.”

The ride operator cheerfully measured her. “You’ve got to be forty-eight inches tall, and you, miss…are forty-nine point two! All good!” He looked at Stiles and winced at the aghast look on his face. 

“I could go with her,” Derek offered. 

“Yes! Please, please, I really want to ride it, Dad, please?”

Stiles grimaced, raising his gaze to the ride. He swallowed as it spun by. “Alright,” he relented. “Just…I’ll be over here.” 

Freddie passed him her camera, bouncing excitedly on her toes. 

Derek kissed Stiles’s cheek before they went to get in line, noting with a smile that Stiles looked startled, but not unhappy. 

When they lined up behind some teenagers, Freddie looked up at Derek, frowning. “Why’d you kiss my dad?”

“Uh…” Derek looked around, but Stiles was too far away to help and really, he had no one to blame but himself for this situation. “I like your dad,” he said slowly, “and I wanted him to know that.”

She seemed to think about that for a moment. “Dad says you’re not supposed to touch people without permission unless there’s an emergency.”

“That’s true,” Derek agreed hastily.

She narrowed her eyes. “Did Dad give you permission?”

And how was he supposed to explain _that_ to a seven-year-old? “Yes,” he said slowly. “But we can ask him again after the ride?”

She started to speak, but then the line was moving and it was time to get buckled into their seats, so she dropped the subject. 

The ride was fun; Derek always liked these ones, the feeling of being completely out of control, whipping through the air. Freddie screamed with joy as they flipped around, throwing her arms up.

When they got off, Freddie grabbed Derek’s hand and wouldn’t let go, dragging him up to Stiles. “Dad, that was so fun, you missed it! It flipped us around and I screamed _so loud_.” She grinned. “Do you want to go this time?”

“Ha, ha, no, thanks, kid. Let’s go on that ride, then we’ll play some games.” Stiles grabbed her other hand apparently without thinking and they set off for the Tilt-a-Whirl in an uneven chain. 

They got cotton candy after the Tilt-a-Whirl, eating it by the concession area and listening to the music playing from speakers set up on the light poles. Freddie, mouth stained blue, pointed at the petting zoo and gasped, then coughed on her cotton candy. “ _Goats,_ ” she rasped. She chugged the water Stiles passed her and gasped. “Please, can we go see the goats?”

“Yes, after we reapply your sunscreen.” Stiles eyed her. “And wash your hands.” 

The petting zoo led to a pony ride and Stiles taking a million pictures on his phone while Freddie clutched at the very bored pony.

“Can we play games?” she asked as soon as Stiles helped her off the pony. “I want to win some prizes!”

“Oh, you do?” Stiles glanced up at Derek. 

He nodded. 

“Alright, let’s win some, uh, prizes,” he said, eyeing some of the stalls. 

The prizes, like all carnivals, Derek was sure, were cheap plush animals or easily breakable toys or inflatable things that usually got played with maybe once before being broken.

“Yes!” Freddie swung around, searching each game, until her gaze lit on the high striker.

Stiles laughed. “Wanna give it a shot, gremlin?”

She shook her head, sending her braids flopping. “I think Derek should try it.” She looked up at him, smiling innocently. 

Derek looked at the mallet and the prizes, and figured it was probably rigged, but he was smart enough to know he’d never be able to say no to that smile on either of them. “Alright.”

The girl running the high striker scanned Derek’s wristband and told him the rules. “You get three chances. Your best shot is the one that’ll count toward your prize.” She glanced at Freddie and winked. “You going next?”

Freddie giggled and ducked behind Stiles’s legs. 

Derek took the hammer and eyed it, rolling it around on his palms. He really didn’t want to lose at a carnival game, but what were his odds? He swung the hammer as hard as he could, and gaped when it hit the top on the first try. 

The girl winked at Freddie again. “Wow! You’ve just earned yourself Stuffle.” 

“I…what?”

She reached into the prizes and pulled out a giant blue bear, roughly the size of Freddie, by the looks of it. She thrust it at Derek. “Stuffle!”

He got the feeling he’d been let to win, but he took it anyway. 

Freddie gazed longingly at the bear.

Derek held it out. “All yours.”

“Thank you!”

Stiles shot him a wicked grin. “Hey, Freddie, let’s go play that game, then we’ll go to the duck pond.”

“Okay!” Her voice was somewhat muffled by the bear, as she had mashed her face against it.

Derek lifted a brow when Stiles led them to a booth with milk bottles stacked in pyramids behind the counter. “Are you serious?”

“Yep.” Stiles held his arm out for his band to get scanned and accepted the baseballs with a grin. “Thanks,” he said. He looked at Derek. “You just have to know where to hit.”

Freddie stood next to Derek, looking bored while she squeezed her bear. “Dad has good aim,” she said. “He always wins aim games.”

“Uh-huh.”

Stiles snorted and adjusted his stance. “If I win, you keep the prize,” he told Derek.

“Sure,” he said dryly. “I’ll take the pink cat.”

“Anything for you, dear.” Stiles threw the first ball, and toppled the first stack. He smirked back at Derek, then knocked down the second.

Freddie yawned.

Stiles knocked over the third and final pyramid of milk bottles, and pointed out the lurid, faux-velvet pink cat, and handed it to Derek with a wide, smug grin.

Derek looked down into its plastic bead eyes, which had loose threads sticking out around them. “I feel like the games just aren’t as rigged as they used to be.” 

Stiles laughed while the guy running the booth protested, “Hey!”

Derek shrugged, half-grimacing.

“I want to pick a duck,” Freddie announced, tugging on Stiles’s arm.

They took her to pick a couple ducks from the Duck Pond, earning two small prizes—a key chain and a plastic tiara—and then the ping pong ball/fish bowl game, where she lost with good humor—apparently the way the balls scattered and bounced over the bowls for _ages_ was enough of a prize. 

The three of them played basketball together, a few different ring toss games, balloon darts, then Skeeball, and went on one more ride. The sun was setting when they climbed out of the bucket seats. 

Freddie leaned up against Stiles’s side. “Can we go on a boat ride?” She pointed at the lake.

Stiles looked horrified and quickly tried to cover it. “I dunno, Freddie, that’s not really…a boat ride.”

It really wasn’t. Some genius had set up a tunnel of sorts and a track system with a boat on top in the shallows of the lake and was charging non-locals for it.

“Please?” She folded her hands under her chin, squeezing the blue bear between her arms until it seemed the stuffing would burst from its weak seams. 

Stiles sighed. “Alright, but this is the last ride.” He glanced at Derek and shook his head, half-smiling.

Derek shrugged and smiled back, following them to the boat ride. 

The tunnel was dark, the boat was wet, and it all smelled like stagnant water, but Freddie seemed pleased, and once the boat got moving, she leaned against Stiles’s arm, smiling and blinking slowly. She was asleep halfway through the tunnel.

“Not surprised,” Stiles muttered. 

Derek snorted. “You think she’ll stay asleep?”

He nodded. “Yeah, she’s out. She’ll probably wake up briefly to inhale some food at home, but she’s the only Stilinski I know who can fall asleep and stay asleep.” He grinned, his eyes going liquid and soft. “Thanks for this. We had a lot of fun.”

“So did I. I like…” He shuffled his feet against the too small floor of the boat. “I like spending time with you guys.” 

“I’m glad.”

Stiles carried Freddie to the car after their ride ended, unsurprised that she didn’t stir at all. “She might stay asleep all night. She’s exhausted.” He buckled her carefully into her booster seat, then set her bear in the middle seat, within easy reach and sight. He glanced up at Derek, then away. “Do you have time to talk when we get back to the manor?”

“Yes.” Even if he hadn’t, he’d have made time. He knew Josh had dropped Kite and Viola off at the manor a half hour ago, left under Cora’s care, so he was in no urgent rush.

Derek waited in the family living room while Stiles put Freddie to bed. Kite and Viola raced over to greet him and were already wrestling on the floor for one of Kite’s new toys. Derek felt eyes on him briefly, but Viola launched at the doorway, growling, and the feeling faded. 

Kite rolled on his back, tail wagging over the floor like a furry gold Swiffer. He had a rope toy in his mouth, gnawing at it gently, and Derek couldn’t help leaning forward to rub his belly. His tail wagged faster. 

Stiles returned to Derek on the floor, rubbing both dogs’ stomachs. He observed for a long moment. “Pushover.”

“Yeah, probably.” He stopped so they could gallop to Stiles, greeting him as if he’d been gone for years. 

Kite let out a noisy _woof_ of excitement and reared up, trying to jump onto Stiles; Stiles stepped forward, Kite overbalanced, and landed on all fours next to Viola, thwarted. 

Stiles sat on the floor in front of Derek, smiling slightly as Kite sat beside him. “I hate being a grown up,” he muttered. “Though I guess it cuts down on [dramatic misunderstandings.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20749295/chapters/49300649)” 

Derek snorted. “I guess. What’s life without them, though?”

“Historically, calmer,” Stiles laughed. He shook his head, rubbing a hand over his face. “We should go on dates,” he said plainly. “Hand-holding, full public dates. I like you,” he added, tilting his head to the side to look at Derek like he wanted to see him at a new angle. “I like being with you.”

“I want that, too,” he said quickly. “And I like being with you.” He inhaled. “I like having Freddie around, too. I wasn’t including her lately to impress you—I just want to get to know her better.”

Stiles smiled. “I know—or at least, I thought that’s what you were doing, and I’m glad. We can and should still do things just the two of us, but I’m glad you care enough to want to get to know her. That being said…”

“Freddie takes priority,” Derek filled in. “Small person relying on you to make it to adulthood, I get it.”

Stiles wrinkled his nose while he smirked. “Being a parent kinda takes the mystery and romance out of things.”

“That’s not true.” Derek grinned. “I think we’re doing fine.” He looked down at his hands resting on his legs, forcibly keeping himself from fidgeting like a nervous teenager. “That being said, maybe we should get lunch together tomorrow, and in a couple of days, all three of us can get dinner.”

Stiles smiled. “I’d like that.” He tugged Derek in by the shirt and kissed him.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the well-wishes! My cold is almost completely gone now, yay! I hope you're still enjoying the story. <3

Stiles grumbled to himself, shuffling the papers on his desk. He’d been searching through the boxes of paperwork Talia had given him access to, but he’d only found the barest hints of who the Hale Bride might be, which wasn’t helpful. Sure, he might have a name, but what did that do for him if he didn’t know anything else about her? There were several people in the family named after each other, so who knew which Hale she was; had she died of pneumonia or been trampled by a horse? He dropped the papers on the desk, annoyed, and swiveled his chair around.

Derek was sitting in the seat Freddie usually occupied, frowning at his phone with his ankles crossed in front of him. He’d been working on something earlier, so he was a little sweaty, hair curling damply at his temples and neck, and his shirt had saw dust on it, but he was mostly presentable. 

“Aren’t Saturdays supposed to be popular wedding days?” Stiles asked, exasperated. He needed something to distract himself with before he drove himself crazy poring over generations’ old birth certificates. 

Derek shrugged. “It’s _this_ weekend.” He looked up, mouth twisting off to the side. 

Stiles waited, then nudged his foot. “What _about_ this weekend?”

Derek looked up again with an apologetic frown. “A few honeymoon destinations have deals for this weekend to drum up business, so most local couples try to schedule their weddings around that.”

Stiles sighed. “That’s…awesome.”

Derek snorted. “There’s no movies playing, either.” He stuck his phone in his pocket, looking annoyed. 

Stiles spun his chair around again, one slow turn after another. 

Freddie was in the backyard playing with the dogs, with strict instructions to return for more sunscreen as _soon_ as Stiles called for her. It was a somewhat cloudy day, but there was still enough sunlight to burn if left unchecked, especially for the two of them, pale as they were. 

Someone walked in the front door.

Stiles was so excited, he leaped to his feet. “Hi! Welcome to Hales!”

“Oh.” The woman paused, looking startled, while Derek tried to stifle laughter behind him. “Hello. I was hoping I could speak to Laura Hale about some photos. Do I need to schedule an appointment?”

“Nope,” Stiles chirped. “Miss Hale happens to have a free hour right now, if you’d like.”

Now the woman looked pleased. “Oh, that’ll work, thank you. I was in the area and decided to drop in on a whim, I guess it’s my lucky day.”

Stiles beamed and walked her back to Laura’s studio; the way she grinned, an excited gleam in her eye, made Stiles think he wasn’t the only one who was bored. They had little things to do, of course, for weddings coming up in the following weeks, but some things—cakes, food, arrangements—just simply couldn’t be done far in advance. 

Stiles left them to it and slumped back to his desk. On the way, he noticed the snake plant next to his desk and winced. “Oh, man, I’m gonna end up killing this thing.”

“What’s that?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “The snake plant Cora gave me. I’m terrible with plants.” He had no idea why Cora kept giving him plants, except that maybe it was her way of being affectionate. She’d just thrust the heavy planter at him, smiled, and left the other day. 

Derek stood to peer at the plant. “Looks fine to me. They’re good beginner’s plants.”

“Uh-huh. I just can’t get over the uncontrollable need to water it. Constantly.”

He laughed and crouched down in front of the planter. “Come here.” He waited until Stiles was reluctantly squatting next to him. “Poke your finger in right here. If it’s dry, you water it. Leave it alone otherwise.” He spent a few minutes showing Stiles how to do it, then they had another walk in and _four_ emails, which was like a party. 

By three, it had died again, and Stiles was back to rolling around in his chair. He was seriously considering asking Derek to push him down the hallway in it, though he thought that might make a bad impression on Talia. He turned toward Derek, inhaling to pose the question anyway, and caught the scent of something _delicious_ wafting through the house. “What is that?” he demanded.

Derek looked up, brows lifted. “Smells like Isaac’s cooking.”

“Let’s go see what it is.” He scowled when Derek looked at him skeptically. “What? He doesn’t have anything on his schedule today, so I know it isn’t for a client.”

“Alright.” Derek stood and gave Stiles a surprise kiss on the mouth, smiling at him when he hesitated. 

Stiles pursed his lips. “We could skip the food and make out in the coat closet for a while,” he offered. 

Derek laughed. “As fun as I’m sure that would be, I think someone might notice if they walk in and no one’s at the desk.” He held his hand out. “Come on, let’s go get Isaac to share his food with us.”

Erica and Boyd were nowhere to be seen when they got to the catering kitchen; Isaac was at the stove, plating something with quick, deft hands. He picked up the plate and held it out to them; it was loaded with roasted sweet peppers. “Try these. Please,” he added.

Stiles tried to act reluctant, but it smelled so good, and part of his lunch had been devoured by Kite before he could stop him. He picked one up, making a surprised noise as he chewed. 

Derek took one next. “What’s in it?” he asked, taking a careful bite, as they were still steaming. 

“Beef, cumin, garlic, chili powder,” he listed with a shrug. “They’re probably too messy for weddings, but for parties of other kinds I think they’d work.”

“Definitely.” Stiles snagged another before he could take the plate away.

Isaac grinned, smug. “Thanks. Now go away, you’re just going to get underfoot.” 

“But we’re _bored,_ ” Stiles protested. “We could help you chop stuff.” He glanced at the set of knives Isaac had lining the counter. “Uh, or mix things.”

Isaac scoffed. “Nope.” 

Derek sighed heavily. “Want to get Freddie and the dogs and leave early? We could go to the beach or see a crappy movie.” 

Stiles shrugged, shooting another look at Isaac. 

Isaac made a shooing motion and turned back to his stove. 

Stiles grumbled to himself and walked beside Derek out of the room. “Maybe the beach so the dogs can come.” He frowned. “Or we can find something indoors so they can cool off, they’ve been outside for a few hours.” 

“Maybe.” When they got back to the front, Derek leaned a hip against Stiles’s desk. “Let me look and see if there’s anywhere we can take them besides the pet store.”

Stiles snorted. “I’m guessing we’d have better luck piling on the couch with Netflix.” 

Derek smiled and pressed a kiss to his mouth. “Then why don’t we?”

He hesitated, then smiled back. “Yeah, sounds good to me. We should get popcorn and candy, make it authentic.” 

“We doing this here or my place?” He put his phone in his pocket and set his hands on Stiles’s waist, nuzzling against his cheek.

Before Stiles could make a suggestion, there was a flash-boom of thunder and lightning, making him jump like a scalded cat. A second later, rain spattered the windows, moving up from a sprinkle to a downpour. “Oh, fuck, they’re gonna get all muddy!”

The desk phone began to ring.

Derek waved his hands. “You get the phone, I’ll bring them inside.” He was already walking to the door, so Stiles figured he’d save time arguing and answer the phone.

“Yes,” he said, smiling to himself, “we have consultation packages. Uh-huh. Our baker is extremely skilled, I’m sure he can help you. Yes, we have tulips. Uh…I will let our florist know. Well, there’s…” He pulled his own phone out to google the question of how many colors of tulips they could have. “There are…uh-huh, I understand. Yes, I’m sure she can, but there’s only-”

The front door slammed open, letting in the roar of the rain. Lightning flashed, followed by a slow roll of thunder and work boots stamping as someone ran through the foyer toward his desk.

He looked up, saw Derek, saw his panicked expression, and hung up the phone. “What?” he snapped. “What is it?”

“I can’t find Freddie or the dogs.” He gulped in air. “I’m going to get-”

Stiles didn’t hear the rest; he ran for the door, sliding in the puddles Derek had left across the foyer. He was soaked before he made it to the backyard, the sky so dark he could barely see through the sheets of rain. “Freddie!” he called, hoping she was just hiding out of sight but knowing she most likely wasn’t. She’d never been afraid of storms before; why would she run? It was usually a fight to get her to stop playing in the puddles. He looked toward the trees and swore, fear nearly choking him. 

Someone shouted.

He whipped around, heart leaping, then falling when he realized it was just Derek, leading a group of dark figures that turned out to be Talia, Laura, Cora, Peter, Boyd, and Erica. 

Talia ran up to him, holding an umbrella. “You wait here while we look,” she shouted over the rain. “If she comes back to the manor and can’t find you, she might panic,” she added before he could furiously protest. “Just go. We’ll find her.”

He shook his head, fighting back terror. “Fine.” He stomped up to the porch and crossed his arms, watching as all seven of them fanned out and headed into the preserve. Stiles paced to the front door, because he’d forgotten his phone inside on the desk, had dropped it when he’d seen the look on Derek’s face. He wanted to have it on him, to call the police if…if…

He braced his hands on the edge of his desk, dropping his head and squeezing his eyes shut.

Thunder cracked outside.

“God, Freddie,” he muttered, trembling. He straightened, swiped his phone and went back to the foyer to stare out of the open door to watch for her. He started shivering, soaked and terrified as he was; he should be out there looking for her, should have told someone else to wait for her. He swallowed, looking over his shoulder, then darting his gaze back toward the yard. Where was she? She _knew_ not to leave the yard, she knew better. 

He shivered uncontrollably, teeth clacking together as the house grew improbably colder, as if the temperature was dropping just inside the door. He rubbed the back of his shaking hand over his mouth. “Okay,” he breathed. “Okay, a plan.” He would call his dad in five minutes, mobilize the sheriff’s department; they’d find her. That was their job.

He paced to the edge of the porch and back, arms crossed tightly over his chest while he counted the minutes and strained his ears for any sign of them over the storm. How could he have lost her here? In Beacon Hills? He managed to keep track of her in busy New York, had always kept her within arms’ reach, and now…He’d relaxed, he’d let her play outside by herself, although he’d hoped the dogs would keep her curiosity in check, and now, this was what’d happened. He should’ve been with her, should never have let her out of his sight, she was still too young to be wandering around alone. He was a terrible father, a failure, and now he wasn’t even out looking for her and what if—

He stopped pacing as a fresh wash of cold terror seized him. There were people on the property all the time. What if someone had grabbed her? Wouldn’t the dogs have barked or put up some kind of protest? 

Unless it was someone they recognized. They were friendly dogs; there was a chance someone had just _taken_ Freddie while Stiles was in here, eating fucking sweet peppers while his daughter needed him-

He fumbled with his phone, pulling up the contact number for John’s direct line at the department. He had his thumb over the button when Derek and Freddie walked up the front steps.

They were both drenched and absolutely covered in mud, holding hands as they raced across the porch.

He met them halfway and collapsed to his knees to grab Freddie in a tight, reassuring hug. She was okay, whole and safe, shaken up but unhurt. He’d lecture her later, even though he was partially to blame. He shouldn’t have let her play with the dogs outside alone. “Okay, gremlin, it’s okay.” He stroked her hair and stood, taking her with him, to face Derek. “Thank you.”

She squirmed in his arms. “Dad, you’re holding me too tight.” 

Stiles relaxed his grip a fraction and shifted her over to balance on his hip the way he did when she was a baby.

Derek nodded seriously. “I have to call everyone else to let them know we’re here. We came straight to you.”

Stiles managed a shaky smile. “Thanks. I appreciate that. I’m going to get her warmed up and changed, I’ll be right back.”

“Take your time.”

Stiles planned on it. He got Freddie into a warm bath and went to grab her a change of clothes while she splashed and wiggled her toes, warming up. Downstairs, he could hear the dogs scrabbling against the hardwood, barking and yipping and doing whatever it was Kite did to make noises like he was trying to talk. 

“Oh, no, you don’t, nope,” Laura said, and something clattered. “Oh my god.”

Stiles winced, but it was too late to offer to help, and he wanted to stay with Freddie anyway. He’d make it up to them later. He hurried back to the bathroom with her pile of clothes to find her scrubbing mud off her shins. 

She looked up at him and frowned. “It isn’t bedtime,” she pointed out.

Stiles looked at the pajamas he’d grabbed. “Well-”

Her face set mutinously. “It’s not bedtime and I don’t want to go to sleep.” 

He rubbed his eyes and tossed the PJs on the counter. “Alright, gremlin, we’ll find something else for you to wear after your bath, okay?”

“Okay.” She flicked at some of the bubbles gathering over her knees. 

Stiles knelt next to the tub and checked the water temperature, but it was still warm enough. He tried not to let his voice shake when he asked, “Did you get lost?”

Her head snapped up. “ _No._ I already told Derek, the thunder scared Kite and I went to get him. I was _not_ lost!”

He held his hands up. “Okay, I believe you.” He sighed. 

She looked down, then flicked a cautious gaze over at him. “Are you mad?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Your eyes did that thing they do sometimes when you’re really, _really_ mad about something.”

He laughed helplessly. “I am a little mad,” he admitted. “Because I was worried about you, and because you weren’t supposed to leave the yard.”

“But Kite-”

“I know, but you should have come to get one of us to help you look for him.”

She looked down, pouting. “Alright,” she mumbled. “Can I get more bubbles?”

“Yeah, you can have more bubbles.” 

Once Freddie was dressed and clean, they started downstairs to thank everyone. Stiles had put her in a pair of leggings and a long t-shirt rather than pajamas, a compromise they’d come to. It wasn’t exactly bubble wrap, but close enough. 

She bumped into his side halfway down the stairs. “Can I go get Cap?”

He smoothed a hand down her head. “Sure. Want me to come with you?” Cap was her Captain Marvel Build-A-Bear that she usually wanted when she was sick or upset.

She rolled her eyes. “ _No,_ I can get my _bear,_ Dad.” She hugged him before she ran back up.

Stiles watched until she ran into her room, then went down the rest of the steps.

Everyone was still gathered in the foyer, mopping, wiping the walls, or talking amongst each other.

Kite and Viola were sound asleep curled up together by Stiles’s desk.

“Thank you,” he blurted. When they all looked up, he continued, “Thank you for helping look for her.”

“No problem,” Laura said. “The preserve is huge, you needed all the eyes you could get.” She had mud streaked across her chin and spattering her jeans, her hair a tangled, wet mess. 

Cora nodded, crossing her arms around the mop she’d been wielding. 

“Is she alright?” Boyd asked with a worried frown; he was helping Erica get the mud off her arms near the door, holding a towel that had seen better days.

“Yeah, she’s just getting her bear. I’ll probably set her up with a movie and she’ll knock out in fifteen minutes.”

Peter squeezed his arm, a wordless gesture that weirdly made his throat tight, the terrified tears he’d held off earlier returning with a vengeance. He swallowed thickly and looked away.

Cora, Erica, and Boyd muttered about getting him some soup and fled, which he didn’t blame them for.

He looked at Derek after he’d gotten himself under control and smiled. “Thank you.” He rubbed his eyes and laughed quietly. “I’m exhausted and I didn’t even do anything.” 

“Fear will do that to you,” Talia said with a sad smile. “Besides, you waited. That’s the most difficult task for a parent.”

Oh, god, he was going to cry. Before he could humiliate himself—who cried _after_ everything was okay?—a door slammed upstairs, so hard it echoed like thunder, and Freddie screamed. 

Stiles was running before the sound even stopped, hurtling himself up the stairs and to her door. “Freddie! Are you hurt?” He tried the knob, but it was burning cold and wouldn’t turn no matter how hard he yanked at it. He backed up and threw himself at the door, ramming his shoulder into it. He bounced off, stumbling back into Derek, who caught him by the shoulders.

“Look,” he said sharply, hands flexing on Stiles’s arms. He was glaring at the door.

The Bride stood in front of it, wild eyed. She glared at Stiles. _You lost her! You didn’t look for her! You don’t deserve her,_ she sneered. _Children belong with their mothers._

Talia and Peter raced upstairs with the dogs at their heels, barking their heads off.

Stiles shook Derek off and stomped up to the Bride, glowering directly into her eyes. “You listen to me. You let me in that room _now._ ”

She curled her lip. _Children. Belong. With. Their. Mothers._

“If you don’t let me into this room, to my daughter, I swear, I will find a way to banish you, Leta Hale,” he snarled. 

Behind him, Talia gasped, barely audible over the snarls and barks of the two dogs.

The Bride wavered, her image flickering like a bad TV, a stunned expression overcoming the rage on her face. Behind her, the door opened.

Freddie ran out, throwing her arms around Stiles’s waist and clutching at him. She was quivering, breathing hard, and her heart was pounding. Before Stiles or anyone could say anything, she turned her face out of his side to glare at the Bride. “You’re _mean!_ I don’t _have_ a mother!” Then she hid away, burrowing once more into Stiles’s side. 

“Leave,” Talia ordered, stepping up beside Stiles. 

The Bride—definitely Leta Hale, as he’d suspected—looked at her, shocked and almost hurt. 

“Leave _now_ ,” Talia snapped. 

She faded. 

Stiles sagged with relief, then jerked when someone touched his arm. He shook his head without even looking. “No, no, I can’t be here, _we_ can’t be here.” He turned, still holding on tight to Freddie.

Peter was ice white, staring at the place where Leta had faded. He was standing next to the stairs, hand gripped tight around the bannister, with Kite sitting firmly on his left foot.

Stiles shook his head. “I’ll get a hotel or something, I can’t-”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Talia said gently. She glanced at Peter, then Laura, frozen halfway up the steps. “I’m sure we can find another way.”

“You guys can stay with me,” Derek put in before Stiles could protest.

He looked over warily, but he was too afraid, too shocked, to worry about how this might mess with their relationship. “Thank you,” he said, because no matter what, he wasn’t having Freddie stay here for the night or the foreseeable future.

Talia nodded. “Good. Stiles, why don’t you pack some stuff while we get Freddie some dinner?” She must’ve noticed his expression, because she added, “We’ll stay with her, don’t worry.” 

He laughed dryly. He was never _not_ worrying about anything again. “Alright. Thank you.” He glanced down at Freddie and felt his heart squeeze when he noticed her eyeing her room with fear. “I’m gonna pack some stuff, gremlin. Go with Miss Talia and Laura.” 

She nodded slowly and let go, shuffling over to Talia. Her stiff posture relaxed when Kite and Viola bounced over to her. She scratched and pet them enthusiastically. “You guys were so brave! I heard you barking at the mean lady!”

Stiles relaxed a little, too, and managed to get himself moving.

Derek helped him pack his clothes in silence at first.

Stiles couldn’t help glancing over at him while he folded clothes into a duffle bag, worrying his lip in his teeth. 

“What?” Derek muttered after about the sixth glance.

He sighed. “I just wanted to thank you, and tell you that if you changed your mind, we can go stay at my dad’s house.”

“I haven’t changed my mind. Get your stuff,” he added with a smile.

Stiles snorted. “I have to go pack Freddie some stuff, too.”

“I’ll help.”

Freddie’s room was cold, but in order, which wasn’t surprising; Leta hadn’t been trying to hurt Freddie, just keep Stiles from her. That didn’t make it okay, but it eased some of the fear-fueled rage in his chest. He packed up a week’s worth of clothes, three books, two toys, and Cap, then made a stop in the bathroom for both of their toothbrushes, Freddie’s hairbrush, and the various other toiletries that couldn’t be forgone.

It was still raining hard when they loaded into the cars; Derek had driven his own, so Stiles would be following him to his house while Freddie and Kite made as much noise as they could in the back. Derek had offered to take Kite with him and Viola, but Stiles thought Freddie might like the company on the drive.

“Dad?”

“Yeah, gremlin?”

Kite made a loud…noise, not quite a bark or a whine.

“Not you,” Stiles said, exasperated, and smiled when that made Freddie laugh. 

She sobered quickly. “The lady was my friend. Why was she being mean and scary?”

Stiles flicked a glance at her in the rearview, grimacing, and looked back at the road. He didn’t want to hurt or scare her, but he wanted her to be safe, cautious around Leta. “The lady is confused,” he said carefully. “She thinks I’m not taking care of you, and she thinks your mother would do a better job.”

Freddie made a face. “I don’t have a mom.”

Stiles grimaced again. She’d asked questions before, like most kids, and he’d explained as gently as possible that Freddie’s mother who gave birth to her had her as a…gift to Stiles, which was the only way he could think to explain it. How did one explain that the pregnancy was a result of a drunken oops, her birth the gift to him from a woman who didn’t want a child, without making her feel unwanted or even confused? 

When he glanced up from the road again, Freddie was fast asleep in her booster seat with Kite laying as much of himself as he could across her lap.


	26. Chapter 26

Derek woke up to several texts from his mother, telling him to tell Stiles to take the day off. He grunted and tossed the phone on his nightstand, turning back over to Stiles, who was curled up next to him. He smiled to himself and tugged the blanket up over their shoulders. 

Stiles mumbled something and opened his eyes. He looked groggy, eyes unfocused as they flicked around. He curled closer to Derek, tilting his chin up for a kiss, light and easy, warm as melted butter, slowly heating up but never going past just kissing. They stayed curled together for a few minutes, breathing quietly.

Derek had offered Stiles the other guest room, or even his own room and said he’d take the couch, but Stiles had just shaken his head and pulled Derek into bed with him. 

Freddie was asleep in the guest room Cora usually used, with both dogs. Stiles had seemed like he’d wanted to protest, but Freddie had clearly wanted some kind of security, and the dogs had been all too happy to pile into bed with her.

Stiles rubbed his cheek against the pillow. “Mmm, what time is it?”

Derek lifted his head to squint at his bedside alarm clock. “Seven,” he mumbled. 

Stiles nuzzled under Derek’s chin while his head was lifted. “I have,” he sighed, “about thirty minutes before Freddie wakes up.” He yawned. 

Derek hummed. “Mom told me to tell you that we’re taking the day off today.”

“I’m glad,” he mumbled. “I have research to do.”

Derek flinched a little at the reminder of everything that had happened the previous day. He couldn’t wrap his head around the Bride, the way her eyes had blazed with rage, the horrible way she’d shouted at Stiles without moving her mouth, echoing in all their heads. He’d never seen her like that.

That train of thought led to another, Freddie’s escape from the bedroom, turning to defiantly shout that she didn’t have a mother at the Bride. He glanced down at Stiles, trying to figure out how to ask, or if he even should. He started speaking before he’d thought it through. “So, um, I wanted to ask…about Freddie’s mother…”

Stiles sighed. 

“Not that it’s any of my business,” he said hastily. “You don’t have to tell me, I just wondered.”

“No, it’s fine. It’s not some tragic or even dramatic story, really.” He rolled over onto his back, staring at the ceiling. “I was nineteen, Melanie was twenty, we were drunk and had been kind of dating for, like, four months.” He shrugged. “We were in college and, like I said, drunk. Really drunk.” He winced a little. “When she found out she was pregnant, she told me straight out that she didn’t want a kid. My dad helped, he told her what her options were, let her know it was all up to her since my part was over at that point.” He rubbed his eyes. “You know, told her terminate, adopt, whatever, obviously we would support her. She asked me, and I said I would keep the baby if she decided to carry it—her choice, obviously. My dad.” He cleared his throat, his cheeks turning red. “He helped out a lot, we covered her medical expenses, and the paperwork was taken care of. Then I took Freddie home.”

“Paperwork?”

He smiled wryly. “Custody agreements, making sure I don’t go after her for child support since she didn’t want to keep the baby.”

“Ah.” Derek couldn’t imagine Stiles accepting help from anyone, let alone demanding it.

He kept staring at the ceiling. “It’s not as hard being a young, single dad, because people immediately assumed we were siblings or that I was babysitting or something, unlike when young women are alone, but some people were pretty harsh or stupid. Or both.” 

Derek could only imagine. “I get it,” he said quietly. 

Stiles turned to Derek and smiled. “Thanks, sorry for dumping all that on you.” 

“I asked,” he reminded him. “And I’m glad you told me.”

Stiles sat up and smiled down at him. “It wasn’t some big secret, I just have a weird…it’s just awkward to talk about. I was nineteen and dumb, but I never want to make Freddie feel like a mistake, so aside from answering _her_ questions, I generally don’t bring it up.”

Derek nodded. 

Stiles leaned in and kissed him, then sat back with a sigh. “Freddie is up.”

“Do you people have super hearing or something?”

“‘You people’?” he repeated with a lifted brow. 

“Parents.”

He laughed. “No, but I did hear your back door open, and both dogs go running out.” He rubbed his thumb over the curve of Derek’s cheek. “I’m gonna go make breakfast.” He climbed out of bed and stumbled to the door, stretching his arms above his head as he went. He shut the door behind him quietly as he left. 

Derek relaxed against his pillows. That was a lot for seven thirty in the morning, but he _had_ asked, and he’d wanted to know for a while. He closed his eyes, but he just couldn’t hide from the fact that he was hopelessly gone on both the Stilinskis currently destroying his kitchen. He could hear them talking, heard Freddie’s high shriek of laughter and Viola’s frantic, excited barking. Something clattered and Stiles shouted, “ _Drop it!_ ” while Kite yelled. 

He couldn’t quite believe it, but he didn’t mind the noise as much as he thought he might.

Footsteps pounded down the hall, away from the noise of the kitchen, a direct path right to Derek’s room. The door flew open, more pounding footsteps, and then two small, bony knees were jamming into his ribs. Freddie grinned down at him, her eyes bright and her hair tangled with some kind of batter. “Breakfast is ready!” She pressed her somewhat sticky hands to both of his cheeks. “Dad said I should come ask if you want some. Do you want some?”

“Yes,” he said, slightly slurred from the way she was jamming his cheeks between his teeth.

She smiled again and jumped off the bed. “Dad,” she shouted, “he said he wants pancakes!”

Derek wheezed, pressing a palm to his torso. He figured the bruised ribs probably meant he’d been accepted by the youngest Stilinski. 

The kitchen was a mild disaster zone when Derek got there, both dogs bouncing around begging for food, Freddie chattering at Stiles’s side while he finished the pancakes. There were three serving bowls piled with eggs, pancakes, and sausage on the counter, and the table was set somewhat crookedly. Derek frowned at the food, but a quick glance at the clock on the microwave cleared it; he must’ve drifted off without realizing it after Stiles left the bedroom. 

Stiles picked up the egg bowl and turned, jumping a little when he noticed Derek. “Hey. Sorry, I’ll clean up after we eat.”

“It’s no problem.”

Freddie shot over, neatly dodging Stiles as he headed back for the other bowls. “Can you teach me to teach Kite some tricks like Viola knows?”

He nodded. “We’ll have to do it in the backyard, where there’s a lot of space.”

“Okay!” She reached out to pat Kite’s head, then looked up at Derek again, a quick, guilty glance. “He stole the first four sausages off the counter.”

Derek had to turn his head to keep from laughing. “I guess he definitely needs training.”

She nodded solemnly. “Yeah.”

Stiles passed by with the pancakes. “Okay, go sit at the table, and you,” he pointed at Derek, “work your voodoo on the hounds.”

He snorted. “Viola, out,” he said.

She shot him a betrayed look but left the kitchen; she knew the rules.

Kite, however, just looked at her, head tilted like he didn’t understand why his friend had abandoned him. 

Derek had already been through this with Viola and knew that until Kite understood the Stay command, Out was probably not happening. So he went to Viola’s toy chest and grabbed a rope toy.

Viola gamboled over to grab it, which enticed Kite away from the food; he left them in the living room playing. 

“They’re occupied for now.” He sat down across from Stiles and shrugged. “It’s a work in progress.”

“I know.” Stiles picked up a spoon and scooped up some scrambled eggs for Freddie first, then himself. 

While they ate, Freddie began negotiations for a later bedtime that night. “Since I went to bed early last night, I already made up for that time,” she reasoned.

“How early?” Stiles asked, leaning against the table to watch her.

She looked puzzled. 

“If you can do the math, we’ll discuss a later bedtime for tonight.”

She nodded frantically, setting her fork beside her plate.

“Ready?” When she nodded again, Stiles said, “You went to sleep at six o’clock last night. What time do you go to bed normally?”

“Eight!”

“Right. So how many hours early did you go to sleep?”

Derek quickly put a bite of pancakes in his mouth when she glanced at him.

She hesitated, scowling at her plate and picking at her napkin.

“Freddie, count from six to eight,” Stiles prompted gently. 

Her face flushed. “Two,” she mumbled. She looked up and said, “I went to bed two hours early.”

“Yes! Good job. You can stay up an hour later tonight. Or you can go to bed at your normal time,” he added when she tried to argue.

She sighed loudly and got back to her breakfast. 

Stiles noticed Derek watching him. “She’s good at math,” he explained quietly, “until you throw in hours or call it time, and then she gets flustered. We’re not sure why, but we’re working on it.” He smiled at her. 

Derek offered her a smile, too. “You’re doing great. I was always bad at math,” he said. “All kinds of math, not just time math. I thought it was confusing.”

“Really?” Freddie looked startled, then squinted. “Did they have math when you were in school?”

Derek laughed, so loud and hard that Stiles couldn’t properly scold Freddie.

He insisted on helping to clean up after breakfast—he’d eaten but hadn’t helped to cook, after all—and then he called the dogs to the kitchen. “You take them outside,” he told Freddie, “and I’ll meet you out there in a minute.”

Freddie nodded seriously and went to the back door. She didn’t have to herd them out so much as step out of the way. 

“Thank you,” Stiles said once she was outside. He’d spread some dusty, yellowing papers out on the cleaned table, as well as a scribbled-on legal pad. “For, you know…” His gaze flicked toward the door.

Derek grabbed two bags of treats off the top of the fridge. “It’s no problem, I’m sure they could all use some time outside.” He kissed Stiles’s cheek before he went out. 

Kite was vocalizing at Viola, who’d stolen his tennis ball, while Freddie watched with her hands on her hips.

Derek set the treat bags on the porch rail and put a handful of each in his pockets, grabbing a third handful for Freddie. They were training treats, so they were plenty small enough to conceal in a fist. 

Freddie noticed him as he stepped down into the yard, and surprised him by running up and giving him a tight hug around the waist. “Thank you for bringing us over and making my dad feel better.”

Derek gave her a little squeeze in return, surprised by the lump in his throat. “Uh, no problem. Do you want to train Kite?” he asked gruffly.

She let go so she could grin at him. “Yes! Yes, please.”

“Great. Here’s some treats. I’ll try first, then we’ll keep practicing together.” Derek called for the dogs; Viola ran solidly into Kite’s side, Kite yipped in surprise, fleeing to Freddie for safety, and Derek figured they’d be plenty busy for the day.


	27. Chapter 27

Derek didn’t realize they’d developed a routine, two weeks into sharing his house, until Stiles had to break it. They were eating lunch when he made a panicked noise and jumped up from the table to take a call. They were both off and it was Sunday, so Freddie was home, too. Talia had been making sure they had a lot of their days off together, since they carpooled, and…yeah, Derek thought with satisfaction, there was a routine. 

The three of them would be out of the house by seven fifty, Freddie would arrive at Camp Dragonfly by eight, they’d make it to the manor by eight-twenty. They ate meals together, they had movie nights, Derek and Freddie trained Kite in the evenings, Stiles searched for the Bride—or who she’d been in life, anyway, and on their days off, they found something fun to do together. Their plan for today had been to take the dogs to the park and maybe the lake. 

Stiles did _not_ want Freddie back in the manor, and had managed to avoid taking her there. On the rare occasions that he had to work on a weekend, he would send her to stay with his father or Scott for the day. 

Stiles returned when Freddie and Derek were loading the dishwasher. He looked somewhat panicked still. “I have to drive my dad to the airport, he’s going to this west coast sheriff’s convention thing and I offered weeks ago, but with everything happening…” he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I have to leave in ten minutes. Freddie, go put your shoes on.”

Derek noticed her face immediately fall. “I could stay here with her,” he offered.

Stiles hesitated, but Freddie didn’t; she spun around, face lighting up. “Please, Dad, can I stay? I don’t wanna be stuck in the car. Please?”

He looked unsure. “I’ll be a few hours at least,” he began, flicking an uncertain glance between them. 

“I’ll be good,” Freddie promised. “I’ll do what Derek says.”

“We’ll be fine, I promise,” Derek added with a grin.

Stiles eyed them, then sighed. “You two are going to be so much trouble. Alright.” He pointed at Freddie. “Don’t set any fires, don’t break things.” He pointed at Derek. “No avocados for her, and call Scott if anything goes wrong.”

Derek snorted. “Yes, sir.” He’d learned about Freddie’s mild allergy to avocados a week prior, when he’d shared his guacamole with her. She was a _fiend_ for it, but it made her eyes watery and puffy, bloodshot, and it gave her the sniffles and a cough for days. 

Stiles rolled his eyes and gave them both a hug and a kiss before he left to pick up Sheriff Stilinski.

Then it was just Derek, Freddie, and the dogs. He had a moment of awkward panic where he didn’t know how to entertain a seven-year-old before reminding himself that he and Freddie hung out all the time now; even though Stiles was just in the other room during those times, it was still pretty much the same. 

“Can we play with the dogs in the yard?”

“Yes, but you have to put on shoes.”

She happily went to get them while Derek scooted the dogs outside; Kite howled excitedly and Viola tripped down the stairs, predictably. Derek crouched beside her, stroking her ears until she got over the embarrassment. 

Freddie came out with a bag of tennis balls they kept in the toy chest. “Can we throw them?”

“Yeah, get ready.” He dumped the balls out at their feet and plugged his ears while Kite expressed his joy at the sight.

Freddie laughed delightedly beside him and threw one of the balls as hard as she could.

Kite and Viola tore after it.

Derek threw another one so they wouldn’t have to fight over the one.

They played outside for about an hour before Derek noticed how red Freddie was and shuffled them inside before she could get sunburn. “Here, drink some water.” He filled the dogs’ bowls, too, and grabbed a glass for himself while Freddie gulped hers. 

“Can we do Legos now?” she asked, using her arm to wipe her mouth.

“Sure. Let’s play in the living room so we can use the table.”

“Okay.” She went to get the tote box she kept her Legos in.

Derek cleared off the coffee table, wondering how’d gotten so cluttered in the first place. There were piles of paper, junk mail, half a travel pack of tissues, pens, and handfuls of loose change scattered throughout. 

Kite came to investigate while he was clearing it off, licking his arm, the back of his hand, and the side of his face as much as he could. 

Derek had resigned himself to being covered in fur and drool for the rest of his life, so he didn’t bother fighting it. 

Freddie dropped the crate of Legos beside the table and ran back out of the room again.

Derek stared at the box and wondered if there was an as yet undeclared child-Lego summoning ritual he was supposed to perform before she would actually play with them. 

She returned before he could call her back, her camera looped around her neck. “I want to take pictures of the houses we make!”

“Oh, good idea,” he said, sitting cross legged in front of the couch.

Freddie beamed, proud of herself, and sat across from him. She started scooping handfuls of Legos onto the table while Derek scrambled to catch the pieces that tried to skid off the edge. 

“Do you know what you want to build?” He started sorting the pieces by type and color, already planning in his head. 

“I’m going to make a castle,” she said brightly. “With a lighthouse.”

“Wow! That’s going to be very cool.”

She nodded. “You could make a stable for the horses, if you wanted,” she offered generously. 

He grinned at the Lego pieces as he was reminded, once again, of Laura. “Sure, I can do that.” He started gathering pieces. He could identify several sets as well as bulk pack pieces, so he could only guess people gave them to her as gifts, or Stiles was more of a pushover than he seemed. Somehow he doubted that. He grabbed a green base and got to work designing a stable fitting for a castle with a lighthouse. 

Freddie insisted on a photoshoot after they finished building; her lighthouse was more of an impossibly tall tower but her castle was impressive; Derek hadn’t been able to build anything that close to looking like a real building at her age. He hadn’t been good at following directions. 

Derek’s stables looked more like a many colored, multicar garage, but Freddie stuck plastic horses in it anyway, then started taking pictures. She’d already filled two scrapbooks with pictures she’d taken around the manor and town. Derek was thinking of getting her a new one. He just wasn’t sure if that’d be weird; it was mostly because he knew she’d need a new one soon, but would it be weird to buy his boyfriend’s daughter something that wasn’t paying for dinner or lunch when they went out to eat? Then again, they were practically living together. A scrapbook would probably be fine.

Freddie lowered her camera slowly, studying the tiny kingdom they’d made. “Needs a racetrack.” She turned and went down the hall again.

Derek looked at the table, trying to figure out what she’d seen that he hadn’t. 

She returned with an armful of orange plastic and Hot Wheels cars. 

Derek watched, amused, as she set up a racetrack right down the center of the kingdom, carefully lining them up and then holding out the cars to Derek. 

“Pick one! We can race.”

He picked a blue one with black stripes. 

They raced for only a few minutes before Freddie got bored; Derek got the feeling she needed to stretch her legs, so they cleaned up the Legos and took the dogs on a walk around the block. It seemed to work—she was calmer when they returned.

“Can we do makeovers?” she asked abruptly, while Derek was wondering if he should make her a snack.

“Makeovers?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I have a lot of makeover stuff from my last birthday party. Please?” She batted her lashes. 

“Uh…okay, sure.”

She cheered and ran for her room; something crashed to the floor, sending the dogs into a barking frenzy, and Freddie shouted, “It’s not broken!”

Derek was probably supposed to tell her not to run in the house or something. He went to the living room to silence the dogs and wondered what kind of “makeover stuff” Freddie had. He remembered the things Cora and Laura used to get as gifts—Laura used hers, Cora not so much—and hoped it was like that. They would use those on him as a kid, he was used to it. 

Freddie returned with a purple tackle box, it looked like, grinning. “You first!”

“Okay…”

She set the box on the coffee table, then looked at his face a little too closely, their noses almost brushing. She poked his cheek and frowned.

Derek rubbed his palm against his scruffy jaw. “Be right back. Set up the parlor,” he ordered haughtily, grinning to himself when she laughed. It only took a few minutes to shave, and it was well worth it when Freddie beamed and told him to sit down for his makeover.

Her little box had a lot more in it than he remembered Laura ever having, but maybe there were more options now. She started pulling things out, examining each tube and brush as she went. 

Derek wasn’t used to people touching his face anymore, so he kept twitching as she worked, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“How come we can’t go back to the manor? Is it because of the lady?”

“Uh…yeah,” Derek said slowly. “She was pretty…confused, so your dad wants to make sure she’s…not confused anymore before you go back.” His words got muffled at the end as she slicked some tacky substance over his mouth.

“Oh. Why’s she confused?”

“Because she…got worried when you got lost in the woods.”

She paused, a plastic makeup brush caked with…maybe blush?...held aloft. “I _wasn’t_ lost,” she huffed. “I was chasing after Kite!”

“I know,” Derek said hastily, since they’d had this conversation before—in the preserve, in fact, when he’d found her. He’d had to agree with her to get her to come back to the manor.

She nodded and smeared something thick and heavy on his cheeks. “I miss Laura,” she mumbled. “And everyone. Erica and Boyd and Cora and Peter.” 

Derek frowned, one eye closed tight as she drew what felt like hearts around it. “Not Isaac?” he asked to buy time.

She frowned thoughtfully. “No, he swears a lot.”

Derek barked out a laugh. “Oh?”

She nodded. “I told him he owed a dollar to the swear jar, and he said he took out a swear loan five years ago, but I dunno what that means.”

Derek snorted. “It means he’s being a jerk.”

Her eyes lit up, making him wince.

“Maybe don’t repeat that.”

“Okay,” she said gleefully in a way that meant she absolutely would be repeating it, probably at the worst possible moment.

Once she was satisfied with Derek’s makeover—including several hairclips shaped like bows, a string of plastic pearls, and clip-on pink earrings—Freddie wanted to do a fashion show, which apparently just meant taking pictures of Derek from several angles. She took at least three pictures from about four inches away, some from the sides, others from the other side of the coffee table. Satisfied, she let the camera fall against her chest and bit her lip, looking around.

Sensing boredom, Derek asked, “Why don’t we put some on you now and take pictures?”

She frowned slightly, then smiled. “Oh, I don’t like putting it on. It’s too hard to get off.”

Derek’s jaw dropped. “Uh…” he floundered, then flinched when Freddie snapped a picture.

“Can I give Viola and Kite a treat?”

“Y-yeah, they’re…on the counter…” Derek followed her to the kitchen after a few minutes, deciding he’d get the makeup/paint off at the kitchen sink so he could keep an eye on her.

“I’m hungry.”

He eyed her.

She smiled innocently. 

Stiles returned home while Derek was at the sink scrubbing unsuccessfully at his face and Freddie was eating a sandwich at the table.

Derek glanced over his shoulder at him.

Stiles’s brows shot up, mouth twitching as he took in the running but unmovable makeup. His gaze swept over Derek’s jaw, and his eyes went soft. “Did you shave so Freddie could put makeup on you?”

“Yes,” Derek grumbled.

Stiles stepped closer, grabbed him by the back of the neck, and gave him a desperate, grateful kiss flavored with gummy strawberry lipstick.

Derek kissed him back, a little confused but generally happy to be kissing Stiles. He pulled back. “Nice to see you, too. Um, I’m gonna go try to get this off.”

Stiles smiled, eyes gleaming. “Hang on.” He stepped to the cabinet above the stove and grabbed a jar of coconut oil. “Try this, it usually works.”

Derek kissed him and took it. “Thanks.” He went to the bathroom, smiling to himself as he heard Freddie excitedly telling Stiles about everything she did while he was gone.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> x( The last few chapters are the ones I couldn't figure out why I didn't really like them but I hope they're still enjoyable to you guys. People are frustrating me today, so have some sterek ~~~

Stiles had a few hours of free time—most of the manor was helping at a small but demanding wedding, and Freddie was visiting with Scott and Allison for the day—so he went to the Beacon Hills Public Library. He and Lydia had been working together to try to find out who Leta Hale was—at least, who she’d been and how she’d died. He went to the local history section, found a microfilm reader, and tapped his legal pad against his leg. He wasn’t sure where to start, though Lydia was sure it was the late 1880s he needed to look at. Thankfully, this section of the library was entirely focused on local news, so he wouldn’t have to search through world events as well. 

His first find was a Li _da_ Hale, who won a gardening competition in 1840; he had at least a decade of newspapers to search. He rubbed his eyes and resigned himself to being here for a while.

He was frustrated, starving, and he had a low level headache from the perfume the woman beside him was wearing, when…he found it.

‘ _October 7th, 1888, twenty-one year-old Leta Marie Hale was murdered in her own home on the eve of her wedding, by one Gregory Stilwell. Several members of the Hale household staff were also slain before Stilwell was fatally shot by Mr. Louis Marshall, Leta Hale’s fiancé. Police are still working to find out exactly what happened, but many suspect this was a crime of passion produced by Stilwell’s jealousy.’_

Stiles copied the names down and as much of the information as he thought he’d need, though admittedly, he wasn’t sure exactly…what he needed. It was sad, he reflected. Her story was sad. But that didn’t give her a good reason to threaten him or Freddie. 

His phone lit up while he was writing, but he didn’t pick it up yet. He tapped his pen, frowning at the newspaper. He didn’t have the full story. He couldn’t.

He sighed and dropped his head in his hands. Even if he did, what would he do with it? He was operating under the assumption that more knowledge was better, but how would it help him against a _ghost_? He picked up his phone and found a message from Lydia.

‘ _Meet me at Zoey’s,_ ’ she’d texted, and that was it.

He scowled. ‘ _I only have an hour left before I have to get back._ ’

‘ _Drive safe._ ’

He rolled his eyes and packed his stuff up quickly, but he took his time with the papers, worried about accidentally damaging them in his haste. 

Zoey’s was a pricey café closer to the city than Stiles normally bothered going for lunch, but he wasn’t surprised Lydia had chosen it; it seemed like her style and it certainly fit her tastes. 

She was at a table already, scrolling through her phone with a frown, ticking her foot slightly. She offered a brief but genuine smile as a tray was brought to her, thanking the girl who’d carried it. 

Stiles sat down across from her, scowling because he was still kind of annoyed at her summons. “I hope you know I’m going to be late getting back to work.”

She eyed him, setting her phone down beside her tray of food.

“And we’re way past the point where I’ll do whatever you say without question.”

She lifted a brow, her gaze flicking over him and then to her phone.

He scowled. “Current situation notwithstanding, but if you’d prefer I go…”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be dramatic and don’t be rude. I have something for you.” She pulled a file folder out of her large purse and set it on the table, tapping a manicured nail against it. “Birth records, and some information on how your…ghost…came to be.”

Stiles looked at her, then the file. “I…how?”

She pushed the file toward him. “Go ahead.”

He flipped it open, scanning the documents. Leta Hale was born 1867, killed 1888, killed by…His gaze darted up.

Lydia nodded, leaning forward. “Gregory Stilwell was the father of Leta’s _child_. He made her give the baby up to hide their affair.”

“Holy crap.” He looked at the pages, some of which were clearly official documents, others were scanned or copied from journals, and still others looked like reports. “So…”

She pursed her lips. “So, his fiancée found out anyway, he snapped two years later—after his fiancée made him a social outcast, she was much wealthier than him. Allegedly, he went to try to get Leta back the day of her wedding. At least two house staff members were killed on his way to her.”

Stiles read over the documents—police reports, he realized, though they were much less formal and detailed than he was used to, journals, newspapers Stiles hadn’t been able to find…another birth certificate. His gaze jumped to Lydia’s. 

She nodded. “It’s all there.”

“How did you _get_ all of this?”

“I have friends with access, and most of it is public, it just takes digging in the right places to find it.” She smiled. “I just happen to know some excellent diggers. Now, I’ve given you all of this.”

“Uh-huh,” he said slowly, because he sensed a catch.

“So you can tell me _why_ you want to know, I think.”

He sighed and sat back, rubbing his face. Lydia Martin was one of the most logical people he knew, and he had no idea how to look her in the eye and tell her that he believed in and was actually afraid of a ghost. It was different than texting vague speculation, never giving her details about why he wanted to know.

“Just spit it out, Stilinski.” She lifted a brow. “I know about the Hale Bride, I’ve been helping you identify her for, what, weeks? Now, tell me what could have possibly convinced _you_ to believe in ghosts.”

“Alright.” He took a breath and, somewhat reluctantly, told her about his encounters with Leta, up to when she’d locked Freddie in her room, away from him. “I didn’t believe in ghosts before this, you know that. And now…now I want to know her, because I need to find out how to get rid of her.”

Lydia studied him shrewdly. She didn't bother calling him crazy or saying she believed him. “And what if knowing her doesn’t work?”

Stiles’s heart thumped. “I don’t know. She’s never left the manor as far as I know, so I guess we’d just move out permanently.” His mind whirled, scrambling to figure out what they’d do. He’d have to start looking for a place soon, they couldn’t keep taking up space at Derek’s house forever. Despite how great it’d been, all of them working together in a little unit. His heart felt gooey just remembering coming home to Derek trying to scrub makeup off his face unsuccessfully—his _clean shaven_ face, shaved to make it easier for Freddie to spread questionable sticky wax and paint on his cheeks and jaw. 

Lydia sighed.

He grimaced. “I guess the next step would be figuring out if I should go religious or what. Like…an exorcism?”

She hummed. “Maybe just keep doing what you’re doing, and I’ll continue to look. Keep me posted.” 

He managed a smile. “I will. And thank you for your help, seriously.”

“Let me know if anything else happens, and I’ll let you know if I find a way to get rid of her.” She paused, mouth pursing. “And I suggest you speak to the Hales about this.”

“About…? The ghost? They witnessed most of it.”

“About getting rid of her,” she clarified. “They may object. I mean, she _has_ been there for generations.”

“Oh. Right.” He winced. “I got kind of focused when she threatened Freddie.”

“As anyone would. I’m sure they’ll understand, but it might be more polite to warn them before you exorcise their fourth great grandmother.” 

“Aunt, actually,” Stiles said absently. “I think she’s Derek’s fourth great aunt.”

Lydia nodded. “Right. And now you’re very late.”

He glanced at the time and swore. “Thank you, I’ll be in touch, bye.” He swiped the file and bolted for the door, cursing to himself and sending Talia a text about his lateness. 

She said it was fine, but he hated being late, especially when he’d said he would be back at a certain time.

He thought over everything he’d learned as he drove, sorting through the information. He wasn’t sure what to do with it all, but it was comforting to know who it was he felt threatened by.

She was still unhappy with him; he could feel her presence every now and then while he was working or giving a tour of the manor, or even while speaking to Talia. She hadn’t made any other appearances yet, though whether that was because Freddie hadn’t been there or because Talia had told her to stay away was anyone’s guess.

They had returned from the wedding by the time Stiles got to the manor; Erica and Isaac were being hosed off on the porch by Boyd, covered in what looked like an entire pot of some kind of soup. 

“Yeah, laugh it up, Stilinski,” Isaac muttered. “See if I cook for you when you guys move back in.”

Erica sighed. “When you’re trying to menace somebody, don’t make it so obvious that you miss them.”

“I do not!” He sputtered as Boyd sprayed him in the face. 

Stiles snorted and stepped around them to get inside.

Derek was at his desk poking around on his phone when Stiles spotted him. He had a worried frown on his face, and a second after he stopped tapping on his phone, Stiles felt his buzz in his pocket. 

He didn’t check it; he stepped around the side of the desk and poked Derek’s shoulder. 

He looked up and grinned. “Hey. How did your search go?”

“Surprisingly informative. I met Lydia for lunch and she found a ton of stuff, much more than I managed to find.”

Derek’s smile had stiffened at the mention of Lydia, but he didn’t say anything about it. “That’s good, I’m glad you got what you were looking for.” 

Stiles smiled and leaned over to kiss him. “Don’t be jealous.”

His face fell. “I’m trying not to be, I _hate_ it.”

“If it makes you feel better, all I feel toward her at the moment is a vague competitiveness. It’s like being in high school all over again,” he muttered. “We were both neck and neck for top grades toward the end of our senior year,” he added, scowling at the reminder. “I’m glad to have the info, but kind of annoyed that she found it first.”

Derek’s smile eased up a bit. “That’s kind of funny. You’re a competitive weirdo.”

Stiles scoffed. “Thanks a lot.” He looked at the time. “Gotta go pick up Freddie soon. What do you think of pizza for dinner?”

Derek stood. “I think,” he said, putting his arms around Stiles’s waist, “that Joe’s is right between Scott and Allison’s place and the house.” He kissed him slow and sweet, squeezing him just right.

“And I think your taste in pizza is garbage, Windy City is far superior to Joe’s.” Stiles nipped his lip and backed away, grinning. 

“You’re wrong and terrible. I want you to know that.” 

As they headed for the door, bickering, Stiles noticed Peter standing at the bottom of the stairs, glaring up. He hesitated and tapped Derek’s arm to get his attention.

He frowned worriedly. “Hang on,” he murmured, and went to Peter’s side. “Are you okay?”

Peter turned to him slowly. His face was cold and hard, like he was furious about something. He glanced at Derek before focusing on Stiles. “You’re trying to find a way to get rid of the Bride?”

Stiles nodded tentatively—he hadn’t exactly gotten a chance to talk to them about it.

Peter’s expression didn’t change. “Good.” He stepped around Derek to stalk down the hall, presumably to his bedroom.

Derek made his way back to Stiles. “Do you think you’ll be able to?”

Stiles shrugged. “I don’t know for sure. Maybe. I guess it also depends on all of you, since she’s your ancestor. If not, I guess I’ll have to find another place for me and Freddie to live—you know, long term.”

Derek frowned at him.

“Not, uh, not that your place isn’t great, it’s just, you know, we’re taking up a lot of your space, and you can’t want that forever,” he laughed nervously.

“Why not?” Derek didn’t wait for an answer; he swept by to get to the door, leaving Stiles to wonder what he’d done wrong.

They didn’t talk much on the way to Scott and Allison’s, but the air didn’t feel tense. Derek looked relaxed in the passenger seat, expression thoughtful, and Stiles didn’t feel that relentless nervousness he usually did when someone was upset near him, so he tried to relax himself. 

Freddie had plenty of stories about her day to fill the silence with, and she couldn’t wait to tell Derek all of them. “And his _full_ name is Trick or Treat and her full name is Jack-O-Lantern and we played _all day._ ”

Allison grinned at Stiles, putting her arm around Scott’s waist. “We had a good day,” she said simply. 

“Thank you guys for watching her. I’m not keen on having her at the manor yet.”

“It’s no problem, we love having her over. Plus, we could use the practice,” Allison said casually.

Stiles nodded, half glancing over at Freddie to keep an eye on her. “Yeah, she has fun, too—practice?” He did a double take, gaze skipping between Allison’s mischievous smirk and Scott’s just-short-of-bursting expression. “What, really?”

“ _Yes_!” Scott gasped. “We didn’t want to tell anyone we were trying, we didn’t want to jinx it.”

Allison grinned. “We were pretty sure but we found out from our GP yesterday.”

“That’s so awesome, guys, congratulations!” He gave in and hugged them both, squeezing his eyes shut against the threat of happy tears. 

“Thank you.” Allison kissed his cheek, then Scott, making him smile. 

“You guys are going to be great parents, I’m so excited for you.” He leaned back and wiped his eyes. “Does anyone else know?”

“Nope. We’re planning on telling our parents at dinner tomorrow night.” Allison elbowed Scott lightly. “Speaking of dinner…”

Scott smiled. “The three of you should come over for dinner sometime, maybe…soon?”

Stiles glanced back at where Derek and Freddie were talking by the car; Freddie was illustrating something with her hands and Derek was nodding intently. “Yeah, actually,” he said, aware of how he’d reacted the last time he’d been invited with Derek to dinner. “That’d be great.”

They got pizza on the way home—Joe’s, Stiles was outvoted—and played in the yard with the dogs for an hour after dinner, and Stiles could barely wait until Freddie was fast asleep to tackle Derek to their bed. 

Derek sprawled, dazed, across the sheets afterward, just watching as Stiles cleaned them up. “You okay?”

“Uh-huh.” He crawled back into bed and curled up against his side; he was still giving off a ton of heat, and they both needed a shower, but he didn’t care. He kissed Derek’s shoulder and closed his eyes. He was right where he wanted to be.


	29. Chapter 29

Stiles was on the phone with a nervous groom, making soothing noises and promising that Laura would, indeed, have the invitations out on time, as promised. It was Tuesday afternoon, but Camp Dragonfly had a lice outbreak and was shut down while everything was sanitized. Stiles had checked Freddie daily since the announcement, but it was mostly affecting the younger kids, and so far she was good. 

But, unfortunately, he couldn’t keep asking people to watch her, especially during the week when most of them were working. He’d sucked it up and brought her with today; she was in the living room playing with the dogs, with strict instructions _not_ to go upstairs under any circumstances. Stiles figured there was a ninety percent chance she’d actually stick to that. 

“Yes, sir, we do have an opening for the twenty-fourth. Does two work for you? Our consultation package will ensure you can meet with everyone on the same day in staggered appointments.” He kept glancing obsessively toward the living room; he seriously needed to calm down, but it was like the house was holding its breath ever since he’d walked in with Freddie this morning, and it was fraying his nerves. 

Derek was helping Peter with a cake that included a lot of fondant work, but he’d promised to check in on her when Stiles was busy. 

It was fine. Everything was fine.

He signed for a package around two and shot a worried glance at the hall to the living room, but he couldn’t call Laura to come get the package that he’d assured her he would bring to her.

“Ugh,” he muttered. He swiped the package and stalked to the hall. 

Freddie was fine, and Derek would keep an eye out. Plus, if Leta did make an appearance, Stiles was sure Viola and Kite would raise hell—enough racket that he’d know, for sure. 

“Stop being so jumpy,” he told himself, and marched to Laura’s studio. 

It was just that it was the first time in a while he’d left Freddie alone in the manor since the incident, that was all. He wasn’t sure how Leta was going to react, or if she would. 

“Hey.” Cora popped out before he could pass her door. She tugged his arm until he was facing her, then tucked a daisy in the buttonhole of his shirt.

He couldn’t help smiling. “What’s that for?”

“Cheering up,” she said flatly. “You’ve been down today.”

“My own fault.” He shrugged. “I just made myself nervous.”

She nodded seriously. “I understand. Mom’s been making inquiries. We know a lot of religious, uh, leaders, I guess? Priests, officiants of all kinds. No one has for-sure answers.” She waved a hand. “The Catholics all want to exorcise her, but Mom isn’t sure that’d work.”

“And you’re all…okay with that?” he asked cautiously.

Cora shrugged. “She’s always been here, but Peter despises her, I used to be afraid of her—not for any reason, really, just…you know—and the only ones who might’ve cared were Mom, Laura, and Derek. Mom’s pissed she pulled that crap with you and Freddie,” she ticked down a finger, “she scared Laura _bad_ with that display,” another finger down, “and Derek, well.” She smiled. “Even if she _hadn’t_ have gotten all crazy murder-y with you guys, we’re all pretty sure he’d agree with you.”

Stiles snorted. “Sure.”

She hummed. “Anyway, Mom’s looking.” She adjusted the flower a little. “I’ve got centerpieces to make,” she said, turning on her heel and going back.

Stiles shook his head, but he did feel lighter, amused and comforted. _Must be the flower._

Laura greeted him with a distracted wave, arguing with someone in what sounded like Spanish. “No,” she said with finality. She finished the conversation cheerfully and hung up. “Hey, there! I see you stopped by Cora first. I knew you liked her more than me.”

Stiles glanced down at the flower automatically. “Oh, yeah, well, you know, we have a bond. She gives me plants that I have no idea how to take care of, then plots revenge for their suffering.” 

Laura snorted. “Right. Ooh, is that mine? It’s early!”

“Yep.” He passed the package over. 

She grabbed some scissors. “Hang on a second, some of these are Freddie’s. She’s getting good.” She pulled out a packet and grinned devilishly. “I, personally, had to get a copy of this one myself.” She flipped it over so he could see through the preview window.

It was a picture of Derek covered in fresh makeup, a smudgy star drawn near his nose, gaping slightly at the camera.

Stiles snickered. “That one should be framed for sure.” 

She smiled at him. “Yeah, for sure.” Her phone started ringing before she could say anything else. She made a face at it and sighed. “Well, see you later.” 

“Thank you for these.” He gestured with the photos.

She smiled again and answered the phone. “ _Everlasting,_ this is Laura Hale. Oh, hi, Vanessa! Sure.” She waved at Stiles and stepped around her desk.

Stiles left, turning the photo packet over and over in his hands. It was pretty hefty; he’d have to get Freddie a new scrapbook soon. An album would work too, probably, but he thought she was having fun adding glitter, stickers, and drawings to each page, so he’d probably stick with that.

He bypassed his desk so he could give her the new pictures now—it would make her happy and have the added bonus of keeping her busy for a little bit longer. He heard faint music as he walked and wondered who’d turned on a radio—Derek or the Three? He guessed probably the Three, since Peter didn’t like radios in his kitchen. 

Kite bounced over to him as soon as he reached the hall, whining and dancing circles around his legs. 

“What, is Freddie not playing with you enough?”

Kite made one of his indescribable vocal noises and paced beside him as he walked. 

Viola thumped her tail at him but didn’t get up from her sprawl on the rug, instead closing her eyes and sighing.

Kite ran over to her and…basically screamed, but she only huffed and ignored him. He sat down and threw his head back, howling. 

Stiles set the photos on the coffee table and looked around; Freddie clearly wasn’t in the room, but maybe she’d gone to the bathroom or to visit with Derek. No reason to freak out yet. He took a breath and went a little down the hall toward the kitchen, but the bathroom door hung open, the room empty and dark.

Heart beating like a drum, Stiles hurried out of the family half of the manor, and froze at the bottom of the stairs when he heard the music again. Not music, but singing, he realized with slow rising horror. He stalked up the stairs; if Freddie _wasn’t_ up there, as he’d told her not to go, then no harm done. If she was…

He heard Leta talking to Freddie, her voice soft and cajoling, while Freddie told her _no._ He burst into Freddie’s bedroom and snapped, “Stay _away_ from her!”

Freddie was next to the door, hands clenched at her sides while she glared up at Leta. 

Leta glanced at Stiles and smiled. _I can be her mother,_ she said, dreamy and gentle. 

Freddie’s face scrunched up, but Stiles spoke first, hoping to keep her attention off of Freddie. “I know about Alberta and Gregory,” he snarled. 

Leta screamed, high and sharp, and threw her arms out toward him.

An invisible force, ice cold and powerful, slammed into Stiles’s chest, throwing him back against the wall. His head cracked hard against the doorframe, leaving him briefly dazed with a sharp, bright pain radiating from the back of his skull.

Freddie stomped in front of Leta. “ _Stop it!_ ” she screamed as loudly as she could while Stiles was trying to get to his feet. “Leave us alone! You’re mean and I don’t _want_ a mother! Especially not you!”

Stiles bared his teeth when Leta flickered, her expression going hard. “Don’t you dare,” he warned her, pushing off the wall. His head throbbed. Someone was running up the stairs, someone wearing heavy work boots, and he caught his breath. 

Blood seeped down the back of Stiles’s neck, which explained why his scalp was stinging as well as throbbing. He stepped toward Leta, one hand stretched out to pull Freddie out of the line of fire.

Freddie danced out of Stiles’s reach. “You’re mean and a bully and I _hate_ you!”

Leta looked at her sharply. _Don’t speak to Mother like that._

“You! Aren’t! My! Mother!”

Leta snarled.

Stiles snapped, “She isn’t Alberta,” in a desperate attempt to distract her from Freddie, and got thrown back into the wall again. 

Derek flew through the door while Freddie was yelling at Leta. He grabbed her around the waist, scooping her up and carrying her from the room kicking and screaming.

Stiles lunged as soon as they cleared the room, slamming and locking the door. He turned, bracing his back against it, and faced Leta.

Derek banged on the door. “Open up, Stiles,” he commanded, but his voice shook.

Stiles swallowed. “Get Freddie out of the manor. I’m fine,” he added, “but I need to know she’s safe.”

There was a long pause where Stiles was sure Derek would argue with him. “Be careful,” he said instead, and Stiles sighed with relief. 

Stiles listened to him walk away, heard Freddie’s loud, tearful protests. He turned back to Leta. “I know Gregory killed you, I know Alberta was taken from you, but that doesn’t mean you get to take my child away from me.”

Leta _screamed_ , so loud it made his ears throb in time with the lump on his head, and the room became so cold his joints felt stiff almost instantly. 

“I know where you’re buried!” he shouted over her screams. “I know how it happened!”

She stopped abruptly and drifted closer to him, bringing with her the cold that had filled the room. _You know?_ she laughed. _You don’t know._ She touched his cheek, a cold burn, and the world faded.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter is enjoyable?? X(

Leta was getting dressed for her _wedding_. She’d never been so excited in her life, her fingers trembling over the delicate pearl buttons of her gown. She was shaking all over, nervous and excited at once. She’d wanted to get dressed on her own, despite the fussy, hard-to-reach clasps and delicate fabrics. She couldn’t help looking at herself in the mirror every time she passed it, giggling like a school girl.

The dress was so pretty! It had been made for this occasion and it didn’t disappoint. Leta ruffled and swished her skirts and laughed, feeling like a child. She ran her hands down the bodice and skirt, savoring the silk and lace against her palms, and peeked at her reflections again. Like a princess, she thought gleefully. She went to her chest of drawers and picked up the scissors the seamstress had forgotten, heavy silver things, and cut a tiny piece of lace free from the underside of the skirt to save. She felt a burst of shame for ruining such a pretty thing, but no one would know, and she’d have a tiny reminder one day when the gown was long gone. She set the scissors back down and stepped into her shoes.

She felt like a queen, oh, she couldn’t wait to see Louis’s face. She pressed a hand to her stomach, feeling fluttery and excited. 

She knew she was lucky to be marrying one she loved so much, especially after everything. It had been two years, but people rarely forgot such things, quiet as they were about them. Her gaze fell, then darted back to her reflection. She wiped her eyes before the tears could fall and touched her cheek, staring at herself again, over her styled hair and makeup. She didn’t look like a mother but, then, she wasn’t. Not really.

Downstairs, Louis’s deep voice could be heard over the others, familiar and comforting. 

Leta smiled; she couldn’t wait to wed him. They were to be married here, at Hale manor, like all the Hales before Leta, like her elder sister. The manor itself was young, as was the town and even the state, but all Hales married at home, never the church.

She smiled to herself, thinking of the gossip mill and how it would be churning again. _Oh, those Hales have done it again, married outside of the church. Blasphemous._ She picked up her gloves, clenching them in one hand as excitement bounced through her again.

The door burst open, banging hard against the wall behind it and making Leta shriek with fright. Then her breath shuddered in her chest. Gregory stepped into the room, leaving her frozen and stunned. His chestnut hair was wildly disordered, so unlike him that for a moment, she couldn’t see past it. He brandished a kitchen knife, his hand slick and shining with blood; it had stained his shirt and arms, gummed to his shoes.  


Leta stepped back, fear seizing her—then fury. She dropped the gloves at her feet, clenching her hands at her sides, speechless with rage. How dare he come here and show his face? She would not be terrorized, she’d spent quite enough of her time cowed into doing his bidding. 

“You’re mine,” he seethed, his face twisting and red. “I will have you.”

Leta straightened further, furious as a cobra set to strike. “Wasn’t it enough that you made me give up my child? Wasn’t it enough that you broke my heart? No. You’ve had enough of me,” she said as dismissively as she could, and turned, stalking to her dresser. A weapon. She needed a weapon, she needed to defend herself. It was her wedding day, and she had a life waiting for her, a forever with Louis waiting for her. Gregory would not take that from her. 

The scissors gleamed on the far end of the bureau. She sidled toward them. “I’m finally happy,” she said to distract him. “Just let me be. You got what you wanted.” She snatched up the scissors and whirled, her skirt swishing against her legs.

Gregory was closer than she’d thought, already running at her with the knife. They collided with a heavy knock and tumbled to the floor. The knife flew out of Gregory’s grasp, skidding along the floor and under the bed. 

Leta raised the scissors, poised to stab him.

He slapped her hard, leaving her stunned just long enough to rip the scissors from her hand. They plunged into her chest, ripping through lace and silk and flesh, the pain so sharp and all consuming, it couldn’t be real. 

“You are mine,” his normally honey smooth voice made grotesque with inhuman rage cut through Leta’s agony, his wet, hot mouth pressing down hard on hers. 

She clawed his face, digging deep furrows through his flesh, and smiled when he yowled with pain. Blood seeped over her pretty dress, ruining and staining it. 

Gregory’s face twisted into something monstrous and he pulled the scissors from her body, a pain even sharper than the first, worse, because they had been a part of her for a brief time and now were being ripped away. Blood poured unimpeded from the wound he’d ripped in her chest and somehow the warmth was soothing, lessening the ache. He brought the scissors down again, piercing her flesh and ripping free once more, and again a third time, though by that one she felt no more pain than a doll, limp and weak beneath his weight.

She could still see him, and she wanted to look into his eyes as she died, wanted him to know her hatred for him, her loathing, wanted him to know that even after death she would make him miserable for this.

She was fading when Louis arrived. Her heart, even slowing as it was, soared at the sight of him, a blessing at the grisly end, to see her love once more. 

Gregory stood, dripping, gleaming scissors in one hand, and looked at him. “Leave us!” Spit flew from his vile lips.

Louis stared down at Leta, his face losing color as rapidly as hers must be. 

Gregory rushed him, scissors held aloft, and Leta couldn’t help but smile because her gentle love was the best marksman in the states, and he shot Gregory dead. 

The scissors clattered to the floor next to Leta’s gloves.

Louis rushed to her side, leaving Gregory to bleed out feet away from them, and lifted her, cradling her in his lap and holding her as she faded away. He smoothed her hair back and kissed her temple and whispered that he loved her, his tears dripping warm on her face. 

She was cold.


	31. Chapter 31

Stiles shuddered his way back to himself, bowed over and clutching his chest. He’d felt it, felt every time the scissors had plunged into her chest, felt life and blood draining slowly from her body. He gasped and realized he was crying, unrelenting, hitching sobs of pain and sorrow. He swallowed, wiping at his cheeks. He couldn’t help brushing his hands over his chest, half expecting to find tacky blood. He straightened up and looked at Leta. 

She stood before him in the dress she was murdered in, the dress she’d been so happy to put on, but she was put together, whole, watching him calmly. 

He wiped his face again. “I’m sorry for you,” he said in a shaky voice. “I’m sorry that happened to you, but even with your sad story, you don’t get to terrorize me or my daughter because of what _you_ want.” His voice grew stronger as his fury returned. The throbbing in his head helped remind him. He touched the back of his neck, where blood was sluggishly rolling from the cut on his head, and showed her the blood on his fingers. “That’s what Gregory did to you, right? Terrorized you, hurt you, because of what he wanted.”

Leta looked guilty, her gaze darting away. _What of Winifred’s mother?_ She sounded sad, tears tracking down her cheeks.

Stiles clenched his fists. “She—she didn’t want to be a mother, but I wanted to be a father, and—and she had Freddie as a kindness to me. So I have her and she doesn’t.”

She looked at him, her eyes gleaming with tears. _Do you resent her?_

Stiles frowned. “No, of course not. Without her, I wouldn’t have Freddie.” 

Leta was crying again, glaring over her shoulder at the window. _I don’t want to go._

Stiles braced for another outburst. 

_These are my older sister’s children’s children. I love them._ Her shoulders shuddered with a sob.

“I only want you to leave Freddie and me alone,” he said sternly. 

She looked at him, at the blood trailing down his neck and staining his shirt. _You’re afraid,_ she realized and shook her head. _Of course you’re afraid._

“You attacked me. You frightened my daughter.”

She looked around the room, more tears trailing down her cheeks as her gaze lit on Freddie’s things: her toy chest, her open closet, the dinosaur she’d forgotten on the floor. She sighed sadly, a chill brushing through the room like a gentle breeze before it warmed up suddenly. She moved back in front of him so they were eye to eye; the tears on her cheeks glistened like dripping silver. 

Stiles stared back at her, felt his heart twist because for a very short time, he’d been her, he’d felt the fluttery anticipation she had for the life she was about to start with the man she loved. He’d felt her anger and fear, so like his own in the moments before, when she’d faced Gregory, her will to live, her determination to fight. The agonizing pain, not just physical, of everything that he’d taken away from her the moment the scissors had pierced her chest. 

Leta stepped even closer, lifting a hand toward his face but not quite touching. _You knew my name,_ she said, and faded out of sight.

Stiles exhaled, slumping.

The door flew open, the frame splintering, and Derek ran in, getting a hand around Stiles’s arm and tugging before he realized Stiles was alone. He looked around, his face flushed. “Where…”

Stiles shook his head. “I don’t know why she left, either.”

“Come downstairs,” Derek said, urging him out of the room.

“Where’s Freddie?”

“She’s at the end of the driveway with Scott. He met us because Freddie wouldn’t leave.” 

Peter was at the bottom of the stairs, glaring up, pale. “Is she gone?”

Stiles nodded as they stopped beside him. “Did you know?” he asked tiredly. “About the whole—mothers thing?”

Peter rubbed his face and shook his head. “She and Malia would spend hours playing together, but I thought nothing of it, because she’d always done that with Hale children. She started telling me…” He glanced guiltily at Stiles. “She kept telling me children belong with their mothers. I just…I thought Malia had _told_ her that she wanted to be with her mother, I still believed it, all the way up until she said the same thing about Freddie. I didn’t…I didn’t fight for more time with her, because I thought that’s what she wanted.” He rubbed his face again. “And now, because of _her_ , I only see her once every three months, and that—that’s—I can’t talk about this.” He glared at the stairs, then unclenched his jaw enough to say, “I’m grateful that you got rid of her. Thank you.” He turned on his heel and stalked away. 

“Jesus,” Stiles muttered. “I’m…exhausted. Let’s get Freddie and go home.”

Derek kissed him. “You have a head injury,” he murmured against his mouth. “I think-”

“I wasn’t unconscious at all, so I just need some ice and you’ll keep an eye on me, right?”

Derek sighed. “Right.”

“Good. Then let’s go home.”

Derek smiled. “Yeah,” he whispered, “we’ll go home.”


	32. Chapter 32

The ballroom in the manor had never been more beautiful, decorated with delicate blue salvia and Indian jasmine flowers, twined through chains of the thinnest gold and silver, and tastefully lit as the night went on and the sun faded from the windows. There were hues of the palest rose gold everywhere, the flowers on the centerpieces lit gently from beneath; dinner had been eaten, cake had been cut and doled out, first dances had been shared, speeches and gifts, the bouquet tossed. It was late, and the Big One was nearly over, but the Martin family really knew how to party. Somehow they pulled it off with class even while Grandma Martin drank Mr. Whittemore under the table. 

Lydia and Jackson looked radiant, untouchable, even as the night wore on.

It really _was_ getting late, but Freddie and Derek were on the dance floor sharing a dance, and Stiles just couldn’t tell them it was past her bedtime quite yet. They looked so sweet, and Freddie was having such a good time twirling in her pink dress, the ribbons in her hair trailing down her back. 

Lydia found him standing by the staff table, looking ethereal and queenly in her reception dress, and maybe a little drunk on champagne. Her carefully styled hair had come down, leaving it tumbling artfully around her face. She grabbed his arm. “Your child is incredibly intelligent, and you need to nurture that.”

Stiles smiled; he was biased, of course, and while he knew Freddie was pretty smart, he also knew that she’d climbed up on the counter to get to the candy cabinet and had gotten stuck because in her quest for chocolate, she’d forgotten she was afraid of heights. “Thanks,” he said.

Lydia squeezed his arm. “Next summer, send her to Camp Sunrise. I’ll explain later. She’ll have a spot waiting for her.”

He turned to smile at her fully this time. “Thank you. I’ll talk to her about it.”

“See, that’s why your kid is so smart.” She kissed his cheek, leaving a smudge of lipstick and the scent of sweet, expensive champagne. “I’m so happy right now,” she sighed, swaying in time with the music. “Are you happy?”

Stiles looked around, spotted Laura talking with his dad near the kitchens, Cora and Isaac fighting over a plate of meatballs, Erica and Boyd sharing a dance in the shadows, and Talia nodding along with Allison a few feet from them. He looked back at the dance floor, where Derek was giving Freddie a twirl. “Yeah, I am.”

Lydia giggled. “I’m going to dance with my husband.” She flounced away, possibly the only time in her life that her movements could be described as such.

Jackson lit up when she got to him, and Stiles figured that even if he was a dick sometimes, he loved her enough to make up for it, probably.

Stiles checked on his dad again, but this time he was talking to Scott and Laura, looking really excited, and Stiles could only guess that Scott had broken the baby news. He went to Freddie and Derek; the ribbons were slipping almost completely out of Freddie’s braids, and she was holding tight to some partially wilted lilies.

“Dad!” She grabbed his hand. “Derek taught me how to dance, and he gave me flowers!”

“I see that. They’re very pretty.” He automatically started fixing her hair; Derek was still in braid training and hadn’t advanced to ribbons yet. 

“Did you see us dance? We did really good, right?”

“I was watching, you did great!” He kissed her forehead and finished her braids with a gentle tug.

She beamed up at him. She’d been upset about the incident with Leta for a while, but in the way of children, she’d bounced back to normal within a few weeks. She was sad that her friend was gone, but after Leta’s behavior, she also seemed relieved. Leta had scared her, and for a while, Stiles had been worried she would be too afraid to return to the manor or talk about the incident. Instead, she’d accompanied Stiles to Leta’s grave, and had chattered at it the way Stiles had done at Claudia’s when he was young; they’d left flowers for Leta and had even found Alberta’s grave, three towns away, and had left flowers for her, too. Now, it seemed Freddie had moved on. She waved the lilies in Stiles’s face. “Can I go show my flowers to Laura?” 

“Sure, but don’t run, and say excuse me when someone is in your way.”

She nodded, giving first him, then Derek a brief hug before she shot off to show Laura her flowers. Her “excuse me!”s could be heard clear across the room.

Stiles sighed, then laughed when Derek caught him up in a dance. He put his arms around Derek’s neck.

“You know what I’m thinking?”

Stiles smiled. “What?”

“I’m thinking when we get home, we should put Freddie to bed, let the dogs out, and have a little of this leftover champagne.” 

Stiles smiled, closing his eyes and tipping his head against Derek’s cheek. “Only after Freddie gets her bedtime story. Pretty sure you’re on for tonight.”

“Of course.” Derek kissed him. “I would never skip story time.”

Stiles kissed him back. He didn’t know what would happen next, but he knew that he loved Derek, and that Derek loved him, and that they both loved Freddie. He knew they would go home—and Derek’s house was home now—and Freddie would beg for another hour before bedtime, and that she would direct her puppy eyes at Derek, who she knew was a big pushover.

Stiles knew that Derek would give her options instead of giving in—story time, or another hour?—and that she would pick a story. Derek would do all the voices as he read her bedtime story, and then he would tuck her in so carefully that Stiles wouldn’t be able to breathe for a moment, and they’d both just watch her for another. 

And then, later, after debating how to properly stagger landscaping orders, or the arrangement of mulch in storage, or the wood for platform building, Derek would take Stiles apart just as carefully in their shared bed, or maybe Stiles would take Derek apart, and they would fall asleep tangled together. That was enough for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this! Like I said at the beginning, I wrote this when I was super burned out and knew I needed to take a break, so I'm sorry if it's not super great, but I hope it was enjoyable as a sweet paperback, which is how I intended it anyway. I am working on a new series now, and I can't wait to start sharing, but I'm going to take my time and read a bit in between posting because I learned my lesson last year, lol. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this, and I hope to "see" everyone again next time! <3


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